Supernatural: Otherworld
by Faierius
Summary: After no jobs for a couple of weeks, Sam and Dean find themselves thrown into the world of Silent Hill. A Priestess of the Order is trying to summon God, and it's their job to put a stop to it before the Apocalypse gets a jump start.
1. Prologue

"You ungrateful halfwit. Honestly, I don't know why I even bothered with you given how incompetent you've always been."

"I understand why you are so angry, but—,"

"If not for me, you would not have this chance to bear witness to the forthcoming Apocalypse, nor the deliverance of Her Paradise! You shall do as I say, and do it properly this time, lest I send you back to the pits!" The woman's light blue eyes burned a hole in the young man.

"I understand, Priestess. I apologize." Bowing his head in respect, he turned away from the woman. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he walked away, the heels of his shoes clicking loudly on the stone floor. The only reason he had any issues in the first place was because the creatures were becoming increasingly agitated as of late and it was getting more and more difficult to move freely through the town. He and the Priestess hadn't seen eye to eye for a very long time, so it was nothing new that she would become angry at him for the slightest hiccup in her plan.

Releasing a self-pitying sigh, he turned his mind to the business at hand. For things to work, all the Sects needed to work together, which was never easy. While they all had the same base beliefs, their practices often varied greatly. They all had different ideas for how to bring about Paradise, but it always came down to the same thing; The Suffering of Man Kind. This time, however, the Priestess was in charge. She needed blood for her rituals, but not just any blood would do; it had to be the blood of Sinners. Such was a commodity not easily found in a town as pure as this. Anyone who didn't follow the Teachings of the Sects had already been purged. He needed new flesh. The signs of the Apocalypse were many and if he didn't find what he needed they would once again be refused Paradise.


	2. Chapter One

Dean belched loudly after downing his third beer of the hour. "I never thought I'd say this dude, but I am bored out of my freakin' skull!" he complained, flopping heavily onto his mattress. He had long ago run out of quarters to use on the bed's _Majick Fingers_.

"Why don't you go grab us some food, then?" his brother asked, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. He paused briefly in his typing to push a strand of shaggy brown hair from his eyes.

Completely ignoring the request, Dean pushed himself back to his feet. "Sam, why hasn't there been a single job? The damn apocalypse is breathing down our necks and there hasn't even been as much as a cold spot on our radar in the last two weeks! What the hell, man?"

Sam leaned back in his chair, stretching out the kinks in his spine as he looked up at his brother. He wore a humourless expression. "Dean, I've been looking at everything I can get my hands on; online newspapers, government reports, police reports, coroners reports, blogs, hell, I've even looked at a weather report or two. I'm grasping at straws here, Dean. The few things I have come across aren't even remotely supernatural."

A frustrated grunt bubbled from Dean's throat as he raked his fingers through his short hair. Jamming his feet into his well-worn boots, he swiped his keys from the table and his jacket from the chair.

"Going to get that food I asked for?"

"Maybe I'll bring something back if I remember," Dean teased, the squeak of the doorknob and rusty hinges accompanying his words. He stepped out of the dingy room and into the bright afternoon sunlight. Summer is the best season for a bunch of reasons, most of which he never got to enjoy, but he could always appreciate the bikini-clad hotties.

A smirk curled the corners of the man's lips as he slid into the driver's seat of his beloved 1967 _Chevy Impala_, inserted the key and started the engine. Maybe he'd go hang out at the beach for a while, see if that woman—Trixie—was there. They had been in town long enough now for them to have a couple of dates and since there was nothing else to do, maybe he'd sneak in a third.

_Survivor_ blared through the speakers and Dean drummed his fingers along with the music as he pulled onto the main drag. The _Moonbeam Motel_ was on the edge of town, and by now he knew the streets like the back of his hand. He was really sick of sitting on those hands and his trigger finger was starting to itch. He had never wanted to take on a demon so badly before.

Just as the car screeched to a halt at a traffic light, earning him a glare from a couple walking down the sidewalk, the current song was coming to an end. It was a good thing, too, because he never would have heard his phone otherwise. Reaching down, he gave the volume control a twist and dug his phone from his pocket. He flipped it open and held it up to his ear. "What's up, Sam?"

"_Dean, I think I've got something,_" said his brother's voice. There was a hint of excitement in his voice that he would deny if Dean ever mentioned it.

A grin broke out on Dean's face and he pounded his hands down on the steering wheel. "Way to go, Sammich! So what is it? A haunting? Possession? Vampires? I'll even take a witch!" He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal as the light turned.

"_Yeah, not so much…_" was the answer.

Dean continued to hold the phone to his ear, waiting for his little brother's explanation. None came. "Well?" he demanded.

"_Sorry, I'm just trying to wrap my head around this_."

"That good, huh?" Dean's grin grew along with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder, he grabbed the wheel and yanked the _Impala_ around in a sharp U-turn. "'M on my way back." Snapping the phone shut, Dean shoved it back into his pocket. He cranked the volume again and relaxed in the seat, only vaguely aware of a guy cursing at him when he saw the man waving his arms comically in the rear view mirror.

When he got back to the motel, he nearly threw the door open in his excitement, but caught himself before he did. No need to give away how stoked he was. Closing the door quietly, he found Sam right where he left him; staring intently at his laptop. He had his chin in his hand and his lips pulled to one side in a sort of thoughtful frown. It was more of a pout, really. Not that Sammy would ever admit to pouting of course.

"Whatcha got?" Dean asked, leaning over Sam's shoulder.

Sam glanced up at Dean, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Ever heard of a town called Silent Hill?"

He shook his head. "No, can't say I have."

"Me neither and I couldn't find it on the maps. In fact, I couldn't find any trace of it at all when I did a search after I found this page," Sam explained, pointing at his computer screen.

"Okay…" Dean frowned, less convinced that his brother had actually found anything.

"I think it may be a ghost town, but not your typical run-of-the-mill ghost town."

That still didn't tell Dean much, but he was interested again. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, peering down at the screen. The browser was open to a page filled with text.

Sammy leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the corner of the table as he laced his fingers together on his stomach. He was wearing his _speech face_, so Dean sat down and made himself comfortable.

"Almost as soon as you left, I came across this page," he began, jerking his chin toward the computer. "I wasn't inclined to believe it at first since blogs aren't exactly a reliable source of information, but the more I read, I couldn't really help but become interested. The page belongs to a guy named Herman Fairbanks. He seemed like a pretty average guy to me. Y'know, typical nine-to-five sort of life until a little while ago. His posts started getting darker, referring to demonic presences, rituals and someone—or something—called the _Divine Executioner_. He kept saying the monsters are getting restless and he's one of only a few people left in town."

For a good ten seconds, Dean just stared at his brother. "Dude, are you kidding me? There are so many things wrong with what you've just said. Namely if it's a ghost town, it would also be a dead zone. In case you've forgotten, there would be no internet. And if there were monsters roaming about, we'd have heard about it a long time ago.

"This guy sounds like he escaped the asylum and went cold-turkey on his meds. His imagination is off the radar. Too bad," he sighed. "I was kinda looking forward to some work."

"I know how it sounds, but I've just got a feeling this is something we need to check out."

Dean was quiet for a moment as he thought about it, well aware his brother was watching him, waiting for an answer. Ultimately it would be up to Sam anyway because even if Dean said no, he would bitch and moan until he got his way.

"Ain't like we've got anything better to do," Dean finally answered with a shrug.

As soon as the words left Dean's mouth, Sam closed his computer and was on his feet.

It never took the boys long to pack since they didn't own much more than a few changes of clothes. Everything they had fit into two duffel bags, not including their tools of the trade, which were stashed in the trunk of the _Impala_. It was quick and easy and they could be gone at a moment's notice.

With everything packed up, Sam went to settle their bill while Dean stowed their duffels in the trunk. Once he was done, he closed the trunk and leaned against the car. Crossing his arms, he let his eyes wander while he waited for Sam. He kinda liked this town, but he certainly wouldn't be sad to see it disappear in the rear-view mirror.

"Ready?" Sam asked as he came out of the office, his long legs carrying him quickly to the car.

Dean pushed himself to his feet and came around to the driver's side as his answer. "So," he began, sliding into the car and starting it up, "Where exactly are we heading, again?" Dean pulled the car out of the parking lot and pressed his foot down on the gas pedal.

"Small town middle-of-nowhere West Virginia. It's a place called Silent Hill. There's a forest on one side and a big lake on the other. At least, that's what I got from Herman's blog."

Dean glanced at his brother, an intentionally creepy smile on his face. He did his best _Deliverance _duelling banjos impression.

Sam didn't dignify that with a response. He leaned his elbow against the lip of the window and slouched in his seat. "From what I read it sounded like there hadn't been any traffic going in or out of the area in some time."

"Like no deliveries or anything?"

"Nothing. While not all ghost towns are dead zones, I'm pretty sure this one is. That would definitely explain the lack of traffic. Could also explain why the town is so quiet. But it doesn't really explain the blog…" Sam said, thinking aloud as he stared out at the straight stretch of road before them.

"I freaking _hate_ dead zones," Dean grumbled, switching the tape to _ACDC_.

Sam's eyebrows twitched in acknowledgement. The boys fell into a companionable silence, Dean drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and Sam rummaging through his bag. Eventually he pulled out the leather-bound, unorganized mess known as Dad's journal. More than once they had discovered a fountain of useful information after deciphering John Winchester's wonky handwriting.

Sam had been pouring over the book for the better part of two hours before Dean had to ask; "Found anything yet?"

With a deep sigh, Sam snapped the journal shut with a muted _pwuff_. "Spirits, shapeshifters, water spirits, ghosts…" he listed, frowning.

"So in other words a whole lotta bupkis," Dean replied. They went through that journal almost every time they had a case they weren't one hundred percent on. You'd think they would know it cover to cover by now…

"Pretty much. Then again, ghost towns aren't usually too much of a problem and dead zones are predictable. But we can always give Bobby a call?" Sam answered, looking over at Dean with a shrug.

"We'll just see what we're getting into first. If this isn't our usual salt 'n' burn, then maybe. I still think this guy's a lunatic though."

"I figured you'd say something like that."

Dean shrugged a shoulder at his brother, keeping his eyes on the straight stretch of highway. It wouldn't take more than a day or so to get where they were going, even driving the speed limit. According to Sammy, the town was about twenty miles from the Kentucky boarder.

More time drifted by and when Dean was able to hear the rumbling of his stomach over his blaring music, he decided it was time for a pit stop.

The next town they hit, Dean pulled the _Impala_ into the parking lot of the first diner they saw. Sam made sure to bring his computer with him so he could get some last minute research in before they hit the dead zone.

* * *

><p>Sam picked at his plate of fries and gravy while he stared intently at his computer screen. The Wi-Fi signal was a little sluggish, but it would do for now.<p>

Looking up from the screen, Sam grimaced at the sight of his brother. The man was busy chewing on a mouthful of bread and meat while ogling the young waitress, which was about as close to multitasking as he could get.

"Dude, at least chew with your mouth shut," muttered Sam, shaking his head at his big brother.

"Huh?" Dean grunted in response, not even turning to look at Sam.

"Never mind. Here, check this out," he said, spinning his laptop around so Dean could see the screen. "I did another search for the town and something actually came up this time."

Swallowing his mouthful and licking his lips, Dean frowned at the screen. "What am I looking at?" he asked, glancing at Sam.

"A records log. Mostly events of historical importance involving the town and its founding members. It appears as though Silent Hill and several surrounding towns are home to a rather prominent religious cult," Sam explained.

"Ooh, peachy. I just _love_ religious fanatics." Dean rolled his eyes and crammed the last of his burger into his mouth. "Tho, wur finkin' they thummond thum demuns?" he asked around the food, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Sam smirked. "Yes, we're thinking they summoned some demons." His eyes returned to the screen and his smirk faded. "And some pretty nasty ones by the sound of things. Almost sounds like witches might be involved as well."

"Okay Mr. Doom-and-Gloom, I'm sure we'll find out what's what when we get there, so let's get this show on the road. We've hunted bigger, badder things before." Dean grinned at his little brother and winked at the waitress.

"Well, if you're finished cramming food in your face, I'm ready to go."

Popping the last couple of fries in his mouth, Dean got up to pay for their meal. Sam took another brief glance at the web page before shutting his computer down. While he was intrigued, he also hoped all they found when they got where they were going was a man with a good imagination.


	3. Chapter Two

"C'mon baby, don't give up on me."

Sam let his head drop back against the headrest, a frustrated sigh hissing through his lips. Dean ignored him and turned the key again. The car didn't even sputter this time. Slamming his hand against the wheel, Dean let out a string of colourful expletives and yanked the key from the ignition.

"Looks like we're walking, Kiddo," he growled, shoving his door open and stepping out into the fog.

The fog was thick and permeating. Sam could barely see five feet in front of his face. Something felt wrong about it though; the air wasn't cool or damp like it should have been, and it was almost as if the presence of it was physically weighing him down. It was like it was there only for the purpose of impeding their senses.

"Dean, does it seem…quiet to you?" Sam asked, moving around to the trunk where his brother was busy up-ending their duffels. Their clothes weren't as important as weapons when they were going into something blind.

"Whaddya mean? It's a dead zone. Of course it's gonna be quiet," he grumbled, cramming guns, knives and ammo into their bags.

"Yeah, I know, but this is different. There are no sounds _at all_. No birds or animals. I can't even hear the wind," Sam replied, squinting into the grey cloak. He accepted a handgun from his brother and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

"What are you thinking? Wards?"

Sam shook his head, brow creased by a deep frown. "Maybe…No, I don't think it's anything like that. Just some seriously bad mojo."

"I guess we'll see when we get into town. Keep your eyes peeled for anything hinky." Slamming the trunk closed, Dean cast a worried glance over his shoulder and started off in the direction of town. As he walked off into the fog, he tipped his head, straining to hear something besides his brother's echoing footsteps.

"Spooky," Dean said as Sam caught up to him. He frowned into the gloom. It was dim for eight A.M. in the middle of the summer and the fog had nothing to do with it.

As they walked down the neglected highway, there was a break in the heavy fog. The shapes of three cars became visible. Each was parked haphazardly, as if they had simply been abandoned by their owners.

Sam slung his duffel over his shoulder and across his chest, drawing his pistol from his waistband. He nodded at Dean who lifted his sawed-off as they approached the first car. Sam was the first to reach the vehicle and he pointed his weapon into the driver's side. Bending down, he looked into the open door, relieved to find nothing out of the ordinary. There was a doll in the backseat, but that was the only sign of the family the car belonged to.

"I would say whoever owns this car left in a hurry, except there's nothing left to show there was ever people here," Dean said, glancing at Sam over the roof of the car.

Sam nodded and reached into the backseat to retrieve the doll his brother had obviously not seen.

"Let's check the other two."

After a brief search of the other two cars, they found the same thing. Though the other cars had personal items in them, they had simply been abandoned.

A frown fixed itself to Sam's features. "Obviously they were left because of the dead zone's effects, but something still feels off…"

Dean cracked open his shotgun and looked at the shells, inwardly debating whether or not the rock salt rounds would be sufficient. "Well, we're not gonna figure it out just standing here," he answered, snapping the weapon back into working order.

Sam tucked his own weapon back into his waistband and fell into step beside his brother. Remembering the doll he had tucked into his coat pocket, he pulled it out and turned it over in his hands. The toy was small; no bigger than the length of his hand. It was well worn, paint rubbed off in places on its plastic face and hands and the blue dress it wore was threadbare in places. Other than the obvious age, the toy was in good shape.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with dolls, Sammy?" Dean teased when he saw the toy.

Ignoring both the joke and the smirk on Dean's face, Sam tucked the doll back into his pocket. "I grabbed it from one of those cars. Little kids don't leave toys like this behind."

"Yeah, and creepy dead zone towns don't just pop up out of nowhere, either. So all of-," Dean stopped in the middle of his sentence, his face twisting into a mask of concentration.

Sam's eyebrows twitched. "What?" he asked, hazel eyes scanning what he could see of their surroundings.

"You don't hear that?" Dean replied, voice barely above a whisper as he looked over his shoulder.

Truthfully, Sam couldn't hear a thing, and wouldn't be surprised if all Dean heard was the ringing in his ears from his loud music. "No," he said.

Looking a little less than amused, Dean continued forward. "I swear I heard growling."

"Growling?" Sam questioned, looking down at his brother.

"Yeah, growling. Y'know, that sound dogs make when they're pissed at you?"

Sam glanced at Dean briefly. "Black dog, maybe?"

"That's the last thing we need." Dean shrugged, his lips curling in disgust.

"Dude, you look like someone just puked on your shoes," Sam commented, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder, stopping him.

Dean jerked out of Sam's grip and walked on in silence.

Sam shook his head and continued to follow Dean. The road that led into town was long and slightly curved. The fog persisted, thinning only a little in some places and becoming much worse in others. Trees and brush lined the sides of the road, making the walk feel claustrophobic. After an hour they passed a sign that welcomed them to Silent Hill. The paint was peeling and it was in need of some maintenance, but was still legible.

It was nearly another hour before they were actually in town. The fog thinned considerably, enough so they could actually see what was in front of them. They weren't surprised to see more of the same in town as they had on the road. Abandoned cars, no signs of life, and a lot of the buildings were in varying states of disrepair.

"Hey, there's a gas station up there. Maybe we can find a town map or something," stated Dean, pointing to the outlines of the pumps up ahead.

"Since when do you look at a map?" Sam asked with an amused grin.

"Since it's foggy as hell and I'd like to know which way's up," Dean grumbled back.

"Awfully cautious of you…"

Dean just raised an eyebrow and hefted his shotgun. Sam looked at the gas station and drew his own weapon. The windows were plastered over with newspapers and the place had a distinct abandoned vibe. Using the training their father had drilled into them, Sam and Dean moved in to flank the door. Sam grabbed the door latch and slowly pushed down. He eased the door open a little, just to peek inside. It was dark and quiet. On the silent count of three, he shoved the door and he and Dean burst inside. Aside from the echo of the sensor, they were greeted with the same nothingness that so far appeared commonplace.

"Hello?" Dean called into the darkness. There was no answer.

Crouching, Sam dropped his duffel to the floor, pulling the zipper open. He fished out a flashlight and flicked it on. He slid the beam of light across the small space and then over his brother. For once, he managed not to blind Dean.

"Is it just me or does this place look like it's been empty to more'n'a'few days?" Dean asked, looking over the dust covered counters and shelves. The tiled floor was yellowed with age and dirty and there were stains in the grout. The walls looked about as bad.

"Maybe months," agreed Sam, examining a dusty computer monitor.

"Now this looks just a little bit too much like blood," said Dean, crouching over a coppery-colored stain, his own flashlight beam making it shine.

Sam bent down into a squat next to Dean and looked down at the stain. "It's still tacky," he muttered, poking the end of a broken broom handle into the half-dried puddle.

"What the hell you doin' in my station?"

Sam and Dean spun in unison to face the intruder. A huge, muscle-bound man in a skin-tight white tee shirt, torn blue jeans and an olive green cap stood before them. Sam stared straight into the man's eyes, his 9mm trained on his heart.

"I asked you a question," the man said, taking a few steps toward Sam.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," growled Dean, setting his flashlight on the counter so he could reach into his jacket pocket.

"Oh? And why is that?" the big man asked, a mightier-than-thou smirk on his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't seem to care about the gun.

Dean pulled one of his numerous forged badges from his pocket and flipped it open. "Because I'll charge you with impeding a federal investigation if you don't," he answered.

"What's your name?" Sam asked, lowering his weapon slightly.

"Let me see your badge first," the man said, jerking his chin in Sam's direction.

"Uh, yeah. Sure." Sam really hoped that whichever one he had in his pocket matched the one Dean had flashed. He withdrew the badge and showed it to the overly muscled man.

"M'name's Jesse," he said after a moment's deliberation. "C'n I ask what a couple'a Feds're doin' out here?"

Sam released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. He was honestly surprised Jesse believed him. They certainly weren't trying to be as convincing as they usually were.

"We heard there have been lots of folks going missin' around here," Dean answered, covering up for Sam's pause. He eased back a little with his sawed-off and picked his flashlight up again.

Jesse moved around the counter and practically fell into a creaky, threadbare office chair. "Didn't think anybody knew 'bout that. Phones and computers ain't been workin' and cars just die on the road into town."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that."

"Could you tell us about a man na—."

Dean held up his hand, cutting his brother off. "We'll get to that in a minute. First, I want to know about this," he said, indicating the blood.

Jesse just shrugged, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet up on the counter. "One'a them mutts managed to get in, so I shot it."

Sam glanced over at Dean. "Mutts?" they asked in unison.

"Buncha skinned mutilated-lookin' things. Nasty-ass beasts," he clarified, bored with the topic.

"I told you I heard growling."

Tucking that bit of information away for now, Sam got back to his original question. "Great, so now that's we've settled that, could you tell us about a man named Herman Fairbanks?"

"I knew 'im."

Dean's brow creased deeply at the past tense referral to their only clue. "What do you mean _knew_ him?"

"Man's been dead fer two years," Jesse answered, staring up at the brothers.

Dean let out a deep sigh and took a couple of steps toward the magazine rack. "Just freakin' great. Now we're getting internet posts from a dead dude. What the hell ever happened to 'dead men tell no tales'?" he muttered, picking up a ratty copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_. He scowled at the musty odour wafting from the pages.

Sam ignored his brother. "Thanks for the help." Hefting his duffel over his shoulder again, he caught Dean's attention and tipped his head toward the door.

"I suggest you boys be real careful out there. Lotta creepy-crawlies about."

"Right. Thanks." Sam offered a quick smile as he tugged Dean out the door. As soon as the door closed behind them, they could hear a click as the door was locked.

"So, what did we learn?" Dean asked, almost sarcastically.

"That there's something hinky going on," Sam replied, watching his brother kneel down on the cracked pavement. Dropping his duffel down with a noisy clang, he yanked the zipper pull and shoved the sawed-off into the bag in favour of his knife and a pistol. He belted the knife around his hips and slid the gun into his waistband.

Sam peered into the fog at the nearby buildings. Restaurant, drug store, flower shop…The town wasn't huge but according to what he had read it had a police station, elementary and high school and two major hospitals. "Where do we start?"

Dean pulled a map from his back pocket and unfolded it on top of one of the gas pumps. Sam didn't need to ask to know he had nabbed it when he had gone over to the magazine rack. He looked over his brother's shoulder, watching him trace a route with his finger that ended at the police station.

"Seems like as good a place to start as any. At least we can check the police reports and all that other reading stuff you so enjoy."

Sam rolled his eyes. Police station it was.

"What the hell was that thing?" Dean gasped, slamming a fresh clip into his gun. He leaned his head against the brick wall they were hiding behind and let out a long breath.

Sam peeked out from behind the wall and looked back at Dean with wide eyes. "I have no idea!"

"I've seen some nasty-ass things in this line of work, but that thing—"

"—was a skinned, mutilated dog."

Dean nodded. "Exactly. And here I thought witches were gross," he muttered, folding back the tear in his favourite jeans. He quickly examined the punctures in his leg. The damn thing had snuck up on them, decided Dean's calf looked tasty and attacked. It took two full clips before it went down and stopped twitching. "Hate to admit this, but I'm a little more willing to believe Jesse."

Sam nodded in agreement.

Readjusting his duffel, Dean took a deep breath and tried to remember exactly where they were. They had gotten a little turned around, but if he was right, they were about two blocks from the police station.

"We should duck in somewhere and take care of that," Sam said, pointing at the blood dripping down Dean's leg.

"It ain't that bad. Let's just get to the station and see if we can find what else we're get to look forward to," answered Dean, fighting the urge to pull out his flask.

Taking a few steadying breaths, Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Dean looked up at his brother from under his eyebrows. He looked pale. "Dude, you okay?" he asked as they turned into an alley that ran behind a row of houses.

"I'm fine. It's just that—," Sam paused as he climbed onto a dumpster and vaulted over the chain link fence. With a little difficulty, Dean followed. "—I've got a feeling that we're dealing with something that might be a bit out of our league."

"You chickenin' out on me, Sammy?" Dean asked with a grin.

"No, I'm just…I dunno, concerned, I guess."

Back on the main road, the residential area faded into another business sector. According to the map, the police station should be located just past that next intersection. As they jogged up the road—Dean hobbling a little bit—they passed a cop car with the trunk open. There was a very tempting, if not slightly suspicious, box of shells just sitting there which Dean nabbed on the way by. It wasn't as though anyone would miss them and he had a feeling they might come in handy.

A shiver ran up Dean's spine as they hopped the fence into the station yard. The excessive silence was getting to him. They were in the heart of a decent sized town, yet there wasn't a single sound. Not even rustling tree leaves. It made him edgy. Any number of things could be hiding in the fog.

"This doesn't look good," Sam muttered beside him.

"No. No it doesn't," he agreed, eyeing up the station. The building itself was in relatively good shape, but the windows were smashed and wire mesh between the panes had been cut. Where there were bars, they had been almost completely torn from the brick work. Boards full of knots were nailed up over the windows and the once-glass doors. A huge chain was threaded through the door latches with an oversized padlock holding the ends in place, effectively locking anyone in or out.

Once again Dean dropped his heavy duffel onto the sidewalk, tore open the zipper and fished out his lock picks. Sam covered him as he made quick word of the lock and let the chain slither to the ground with a noisy clatter. He kicked the rust spotted chain aside with his good leg and tucked the picks away again. He barely had his bag back over his shoulder before Sammy was pushing open the heavy doors.

"Whoa, what's the rush? Don't ya thing the chain was in place for a reason? Don't just go barging in." He levelled his weapon with one hand as Sam swung the door wide.

Sam directed a glance over his shoulder and shrugged.

Fog-dimmed sunlight filtered through the open door and the cracks in the boarded up windows. A few still functioning light bulbs added a little light, but they were clearly on their last legs.

The boys slipped into the mid-sized lobby as the doors fell shut behind them. They did a quick scan of the room and saw nothing other than a room in need of maintenance. The marble tiles were cracked, broken or even missing in places. The walls needed to be washed and the paint was peeling around the doors and windows, but there didn't appear to be anything out of place. Nothing indicated chaos. No papers littered the floor, no chairs strewn about. Even the broken glass from the windows had been cleaned up.

"Do you think someone is living here?" Sam asked, his voice carrying across the vacant lobby.

"That glass sure as hell didn't clean itself up," Dean answered, scowling. "Just for the hell of it, see if you can get the computer running. I'm gonna take a peek behind door number one." Without waiting for his brother's reply, Dean took off through the door on the right side of the room. On the other side of the door was the bullpen, nine pairs of desks, white boards with pictures and notes and piles of papers stacked on the desks. Across the room were two more doors. Weaving his way through the desks, he did a cursory once-over of each as he made his way to the doors. Having no idea what was behind either door, he chose the one on the right and went inside. The old wooden door creaked nosily as he entered, but no one acknowledged him, so he continued. Another reception area with a built in chest-high counter greeted him. The counter stretched the length of the room, a three foot section in the far side cut out to allow entrance to the area behind. A small wood-panelled room took up much of one corner of the larger room. It was clearly an afterthought to the original construction.

Dean did a quick search of the outer office first before going behind the counter. He didn't find anything unusual there, either. Someone had left their purse with a bottle of some sort of medication inside, but nothing interesting. Next was the smaller room. A label on the door read _Sherriff_.

"Let's take a look and see what's in the big guy's office, then." He muttered to himself as he rifled through a stack of papers. He found nothing so he abandoned the stack.

"The door to the office was ajar, so Dean nudged it open with the toe of his boot. No one was inside and a few folders were open on the desk. Plopping himself down in the Sheriff's rather comfy chair, he set his gun down on the desk and looked down at the files. The one on the top of the pile was in regards to one Sharalynn Stevenson. The arrest record was from the last town she lived in, witness statements, photographs, and notes. The file claimed she was being held in Silent Hill until the sheriff made up his mind about some matter or other that hadn't been included in the notes. She had originally been arrested for disturbing the peace and violent behavior. He scanned a couple of the witness statements and grinned.

"Bingo!" Dean snatched up the file and his gun before heading back out to where he had left Sammy. He pulled open the door leading into the lobby and waved the file over his head. "I think we've got something to work with here, Sam!"

Sam was not where he had left him.

"Sunuvabitch!" he cursed. He took a few long strides to where his brother should have been. The computer was silent and there was no trace of Sam. He slammed his fist down on the desk and watched a couple of funny-looking bugs scurry across the top and disappear.

How come he hadn't heard anything? He wasn't so far away that he wouldn't have heard a struggle or Sammy yell for help.

"Are you okay? I heard you yell."

Adrenaline was pumping through Dean's system and in the blink of an eye he spun, ready to deck the person behind him.

"Jeez Dean, calm down!" Sammy said, grabbing Dean's wrist.

Eyes wide, Dean gripped Sam's jacket. "What the hell, man?"

"Why'd you yell?" Sam asked, visually inspecting his brother from any new wounds.

"Because you were freakin' _missing_, dude!" exclaimed Dean. "Where the hell'd you go?

Sam stepped away from Dean, his entire hairline moving as his eyebrows fell into a less surprised position. "The computer didn't boot up, so I went to find you. Clearly I picked the wrong door."

"Clearly."

"But you have to admit dude, the look on your face was priceless," Sam finished with a boyish grin on his face.

Dean glared at his brother, resisting the urge to punch him in the nose.

"Oh, and," Sam's eyebrows shot upward again, "while I was downstairs, I came across the evidence locker and another door leading further down. And that door over there is the armory," he said, pointing to the other door in the lobby.

"We'll check out the basement after I show you this," Dead said, moving back to the desk and flipping the file open.

"What is it?" Sam asked, leaning over Dean's shoulder and shinning his light on the report.

"Sharalynn Stevenson. Last place she lived she was accused of killing neighborhood pets. She moved here shortly after that and people started going missing around then or dying of unnatural causes. She was arrested and is being detained in town until further notice, I guess," explained Dean, shining his own light on the paper. Only now did he get a good look at the woman's mug shot. She had pale, sunken features, long, wavy blonde hair and light colored eyes—blue according to the description. She would have been pretty if she had a little more weight.

"Eye witness reports claim people have heard chanting in a strange language and some even say they saw here casting spells. Dean, this sounds like they're calling her a witch," Sam muttered incredulously.

With a frown, Dean shook his head. "Ignore the witness reports, dummy. You know how people will say anything for their fifteen seconds. Look here," he said, pointing to the actual police report. "She's suspected of belonging to a cult—I assume it's the same one you mentioned before—she's sacrificing animals, people are going missing and dying around her. I'm thinking we've got some low-on-the-ladder demon—or demons—trying to summon a pagan god maybe.

"It's a start, but there are a lot of rituals that require a blood sacrifice. It probably won't hurt to talk to her though…" he trailed off with a shrug.

"Well, we'll have to find her first. We can do that after we check out the basement." Dean left the file on the desk and they headed back into the office. Sam had left the door open, a dark staircase descending to the first basement level. Their flashlight beams crisscrossed over the concrete walls of the stairwell, illuminating water stains and leaking pipes. Not a single light was functioning on the first basement level, so they had to make do with their flashlights. It made for awkward shuffling in some areas since the suffocating darkness seemed to absorb the light from the flashlights.

"I didn't go any further than this," Sam said when they came to a heavy door at the end of a hallway. He pushed it open with an eerie creak to reveal another staircase. This one was metal, rusted through in spots, wobbly and certainly not the safest piece of construction Dean had ever seen.

Dean took a deep breath and placed on foot on the Staircase-of-Doom. The stair groaned under his weight plus the weight of his duffel. He hesitated. No way in Hell was he gonna croak by falling down the damn stairs.

"What's the hold up?" Sam questioned from behind him, shining his light down the stairs.

"Just trying to remember if I've ever had a tetanus shot or not…" he grumbled, starting down the stairs. The rusty piece of junk protested loudly as they descended. Luckily, it wasn't very long and they were on solid concrete again. Dean released a steadying breath and ignored the chuckle from his brother.

Before them stretched a hallway so long, their flashlights didn't even reach the end. Sam and Dean exchanged a dubious glance before they started walking.

Five minutes passed and the hallway still showed no signs of ending.

"Seriously?" Dean muttered when the floor started to dip, leading them subtly downward. "This is getting ridiculous."

Another five minutes passed before a door finally showed up in their flashlight beams. Dean muttered something under his breath as they approached the door. Sam was pretty sure it was a string of curse words.

The door before them was heavy with three huge locks securing it. It was unlocked, so they went through. Another hallway waited for them, this one stretching from left to right.

"Which way?" Dean asked Sam, glancing down both sides of the hallway. At least they could see the end this time.

"How 'bout left?"

Dean shrugged and headed left. Another door at the end was labelled _Toluca Prison: Women's Ward_. A smarmy smirk curled the corners of Dean's lips.

"You do know that women's prisons are nothing like those movies, right?" Sam sighed, shaking his head at his brother.

"A guy can dream, can't he?" Dean continued to smirk.

Sam huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. He glanced up when the emergency light flickered to life, the sickly yellow pool illuminating just enough that Sam caught the strange glyph on the wall.

"Dean, check this out," he muttered, leaning in close to the wall. Another flashlight beam joined his and he glanced over to see his brother frowning up at the glyph. The base of the glyph was a large circle with a smaller circle inside. Between the inner and outer circles were many different symbols with a crude eye at the top. Three other symbols marked the sides and bottom, but Sam had no idea how to even start interpreting them. Small symbols indicated the north, south, east and west positions on the outside of the exterior circle. Three smaller circles were arranged in a triangle inside the interior circle with four bold symbols in the spaces between them. It looked extremely complicated and would have taken a while to draw out with this amount of precision.

"Weird," Dean answered, glancing away from the glyph. He looked back at the door to the women's ward, his brow creasing in a deep frown. "That's not right."

Sam's eyes followed his brother's to the door. The metal seemed to be rusting right before their eyes and the pain was peeling off the sign. The place was aging in a matter of seconds.

"Dean?"

The man didn't get a chance to answer as a low siren—almost like an air raid siren—filled the corridor. The entire world was shifting and twisting around them.


	4. Chapter Three

"Things just reached a whole new level of creepy," Dean muttered, panning his flashlight across the mesh grating floor and the rusty, almost bloody, fleshy walls.

Sam gaped. "Understatement of the millennium, dude. What the hell is going on?"

Swallowing hard, Dean pressed his index finger against the wall. It was solid, but had a slight give to it, and the walls and ceiling were coated in a slimy, metallic smelling substance. There was an odd scraping sound and weeping in the distance.

"Please tell me I'm not the only one who hears that?" Sam questioned, shining his light back in the directed they had come.

Dean pulled a face and wiped his hand on his jeans. "No, I hear it." He pushed by his brother and pulled open the door to the women's ward. It was heavy, but certainly wasn't steel like it had been moments before. The handle was warm and pulsated beneath his hand. He made a mental note to have Sam open all the doors from now on.

"Dude, gross," he grumbled as he released the door handle. When he looked up, the statement applied to the corridor before them as well. A long, wide hall spread out before them, a couple of doors on either side of the rusty, metal grating walls. The stink of days-old decomposing flesh permeated the air, mixed with the stench of unwashed bodies, rotten food and various other odors Dean didn't try hard to identify. He supressed a gag.

They walked quickly down the corridor, checking the doors as they went. The locks were rusted and broken, making their choice of direction much easier. Dean was about to grab the last door handle when he heard his brother inhale sharply behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and laid eyes on the horror Sam had illuminated. A mangled corpse was strung up behind the grating, its entrails hanging out in an almost decorative manner. Its lips had been cut off, its teeth forever exposed in a mockery of a grin.

Swallowing back bile, Dean grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him away. He had never seen anything so horrific in his life, and he had been to Hell.

"You okay, Sammy?" he asked his brother, glancing around. The door to the prison was standing open.

Sam nodded meekly, his skin white. His eyes were wide and horrified, the image of the body permanently ingrained in his mind.

Dean nodded and headed down the catwalk between rows of cells. There were three floors with ten cells to each side. Ambient light filtered up from somewhere on the ground floor and Dean looked over the edge. A weird man-shaped beast wandered, knock-kneed, in the open area. The poor creature looked like someone had sealed its head and torso inside a plastic bag and it was struggling to get out. It was featureless and armless with a slit in its chest that appeared to be leaking some sort of fluid.

"Creepy-ass shit," he muttered, shaking his head and continuing across the catwalk.

"How do you want to do this?" Sam asked when they reached the end of the walkway and it branched left and right.

"I'll take left," Dean answered, nodding in that direction. He was gripping his weapon and flashlight a little tighter than he would have admitted. The constant drip-drip-drip of scummy rust water was rubbing on his nerves. An odd smell wafted from the pores in the decaying concrete and Dean took shallow breaths, trying not to get the taste in his mouth.

He came to the first cell, the metal bars slipping under his hand when he grabbed them. The rusted hinges groaned and creaked, but refused to give. Dean shone his light into the cell. The cot was thrown up against the wall, springs twisted and broken, mattress stained with big, blotchy yellow and red patches. Something was written on the wall, but he couldn't make it out. The woman wasn't here, so he moved on.

"Where are all the prisoners?" Sam called from the opposite walkway. "These cells are all locked! There should be bodies."

"Maybe they're all strung up in the halls," Dean growled back, approaching the last cell on the upper level. The door hung off its hinges and Dean was able to squeeze inside. The foul reek of the overflowing toilet assaulted his senses, combined with the slick, reddish substance that leaked down the walls and the torn, blood splattered mattress was more than a little disturbing. With his good leg, he kicked the mattress over to reveal the wall behind and saw the words scrawled in blood;

_THE DIVINE EXECUTIONER SHALL_

_CLEANSE THE SINNERS. HE WILL BRING_

_THE APOCALYPSE IN PREPARATION_

_FOR HER PARADISE._

A shiver ran up Dean's spine. He didn't like the sound of this Divine Executioner guy, but he certainly wasn't the one bringing the apocalypse. Although if they got rid of him, maybe they'd be one step closer to preventing the end of the world.

A hand touched his shoulder as he was deep in thought and he spun around in the cramped space, startled. Sam was staring down at him.

"What's with you?" Sam asked, brow twitching.

"When did you get so stealthy, Bigfoot?" Dean asked in return. He glanced back at the bloody scribble on the wall and puffed out a breath. He shook his head and directed his brother from the cell. Following him out, he took a breath of the not-so-fresh air and swore he felt his nostrils and lungs protest the tainted air. It even felt heavy and wet in his lungs.

With his weapon raised, Sam led them down to the next level. At the end of the far right side, a shadowy figure stumbled from an open cell.

"Stop!" barked Sam, his gun trained on whoever was coming toward them. It didn't stop.

"It's like that thing downstairs," Dean commented, training his own weapon on the creature. From this close he could see it had mottled, vein covered skin that glistened like a reptile's. It looked smooth and slippery and was a nondescript gender. A foul, acrid stench rolled off of it and its jerky steps made it look like something straight from a horror movie.

Sam and Dean were transfixed by the grotesque beast as it slowly made its way toward them. The thing stopped a few feet away and started to bend backward, the slit in its chest spreading as though it was trying to take a breath. The black liquid dripping from the maw started to drift out in a gaseous state.

"Shoot!" shouted Dean.

Sam's trigger finger was a hair faster than Dean's and he buried three bullets into the beast's chest. The monster reverberated, thrown back twitching with the shots. It fell to the ground, the cloud of noxious black smog falling back onto it as it collapsed. Dean drilled a couple more bullets into its head for good measure. Its flesh sizzled and bubbled where the smog fell onto it and it writhed for a moment before falling limp.

"What. The _Hell_. Was that?" Sam panted, blinking at Dean.

"Let's call it an Armless Man for simplicities sake," Dean answered, moving down the walkway to where the monster came from.

"Did you have a run in with one of these while I wasn't looking?"

"You'd have heard the gunshots," Dean shrugged and entered the open cell. This one was tidy—clean, even—compared to the slick, rusty metal everywhere else. A desk was pushed into one corner, books and papers piled on top. Dean picked one of them up, turned it over in his hand and tossed it to Sam. There was nothing written on the hard leather cover.

"This looks like it could be a bible or some sort of religious text," Sam said, clearing his throat in an attempt to get the smell from his nose and the taste out of his mouth.

"Oh?" Dean asked, mildly disinterested as he flipped through a pile of paper. Every sheet was covered in childish crayon drawings of monsters and torture. One depicted two bloodied men on their knees with a group of red-hooded people surrounding them and a big man with a bigger blade and a strange pyramid-shaped helmet. He picked it up and showed it to his brother. "Hey, does this look just a little bit too much like us to you?"

Looking up from the book for a moment, Sam glanced at the drawing. One crudely drawn man had short, spiky hair and a leather jacket while the other one had longer, shaggy hair and was a lot taller.

"Someone knew we were coming?"

"Yeah, seems that way." Dean folded the drawing and slipped it into a pocket of his jacket. Returning to the piles of books, he found an occult magazine with a series of interesting profanities scribbled on the cover. Picking it up, he flicked it open to a dog-eared page with an article about the religion of Silent Hill and the nearby town of Sheppard's Glen. Much of it had been scratched out, but some was still legible.

_-violence is a main aspect of the Order's belief system._

_The parishioners of the cult largely resort to torture,_

_kidnapping and murder. Child abuse is also not unheard_

_of. To them, there is no 'good' or 'evil', only 'order _

_and 'chaos'—_

A large section of text was completely blacked out beneath the paragraph, but the last sentence was visible and caught Dean's attention.

_Those with darkness in their hearts are lured to_

_Silent Hill to feed the creatures known to the believers_

_as incarnations of God._

"Well, I think it's a safe bet we're good fodder for whatever it is they're doing here," Dean mumbled to himself. He tossed the magazine back onto the desk and looked at Sam.

"I don't think we're going to find anything here, Dean," he said as he set the leather bound book on the desk.

"Unfortunately, I'll have to agree with you. Though we should still—ah!"

Sam's eyes shot wide. "What?"

Dean pressed his hands to his head, trying to ease the sudden searing pain in his skull. A red haze obscured his vision as he glanced up at Sam. His brother was calling to him, but all he could hear was the sirens in his head. He fell to his knees, but someone—or something—was calling to him and he simply couldn't resist.


	5. Never Forgive Me, Never Forget Me

"Dean. Dean! C'mon, dude, we've gotta roll."

"Sam?"

"You can't leave me high and dry at a time like this, you jerk!"

Dean's brow creased and he struggled to open his gluey eyes. "What happened, Sam?" he croaked, sitting up and wrenching his eyes open, much to his regret.

"Sam? Really, you're mistaking me for your brother now? Sam's at school being _normal_ you dumbass. Now is not a good time to wig out!" The more he heard the voice, the more feminine it sounded.

Dean scowled and turned toward the voice. Five inches from his face was a very large pair of breasts. He licked his lips and looked up at the attached face.

"Okay Sweetcheeks, I know how much you love my tits, but you know that old adage _a time and place for everything_? Well, now is neither the time or place."

"Huh?" Dean blinked at the woman.

"I know you've lost a fair share of blood, but there is no way you could have forgotten about the demon nest, moron," the woman growled, peeking around a wall.

Dean had no idea where he was. They were clearly outdoors, but that was about all he knew. That, and the woman next to him was supposed to be dead. He had watched her die with his own eyes and he hadn't been able to do anything about it.

"Dean, you look like you've seen a ghost," she said to him with a cheeky grin.

He shook his head, trying to clear out the cobwebs. The last thing he could remember was being in that prison with Sam and they were looking for a woman named Sharalynn. He had gotten a dog bite on his leg, which he noticed was still there and bleeding again.

"Jae, what the hell—"

"Grab your gun and let's split. They're coming," she said, suddenly serious. She handed him his sawed-off and tried to pull him to his feet. Begrudgingly, he got up, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to keep some of the weight off his leg. They hobbled up the fog-choked road, away from the demons Dean couldn't see or hear.

Jae Fairwain was one of the most beautiful women Dean had ever laid eyes on and a hunter tough enough that she could even kick his ass. She had long near-black hair that she always wore pulled back, bright blue eyes and long, slender legs. She loved to dress in snug jean shorts, a black tee-shirt with a button-up on top and hiking boots. She was a tomboy through and through, but that didn't deter Dean. He and Jae had hooked up for a job his dad had sent him on about a year before he went missing. The relationship he had with her was hardly professional.

"I know you told me to stay put, but I couldn't let Mr. Macho have all the fun, could I?" She winked at him as she pulled open the door of a non-descript house.

Dean pulled himself along the wall and stumbled into the living room. He recognized this place as soon as he saw the beat-up couch. This had been their safe-house—salt on all the doors and windows, devils traps everywhere, the works.

What the hell was going on here?

"All right Muscles, we're safe for the moment. Why don't you let me take a look at that leg?" Jae sat down on the coffee table before him and grabbed his foot, placing it in her lap. She eased off his boot and sock and pushed his pant leg up. A slick, sticky red coating of blood covered his lower leg and beaded on the hair. There was a flap of flesh hanging loose where the dog's tooth was torn from his leg. The wound looked bad, but it honestly didn't hurt that much.

Opening the first aid kid on the table beside her, Jae pulled out a wad of gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. She poured the alcohol into the gauze and started to swab the wound. Dean grit his teeth against the burn of the alcohol. Once she was done cleaning it, she did a quick, neat job of stitching and bandaging the wound.

"There! Now what the hell're we gonna do about those damn demons? They've overrun the damn town!"

"Short of a nuke?"

"Very funny, Mr. Wise-Ass. We've run out of salt and holy-water, and since this place doesn't have running water, we can't make any more. Are you telling me we're pretty much boned?" She crossed her arms and hooked one leg over the other.

That was the way Dean had remembered it, anyway. They had been fully and royally screwed, but they couldn't stay holed up here forever. They had made a run for it. At the time, it had been the worst congregation of demons Dean had ever seen and there was no way they could escape alive.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" Jae asked, frowning at Dean.

"Yeah," he muttered even though he hadn't been paying attention at all. "Hey Jae, did you hear those sirens earlier?"

Her brow twitched. "Do you have a head wound I don't know about?" she asked, grabbing his head and tilting it in numerous directions.

Shaking his head, Dean pushed himself to his feet and limped to the fridge. He hoped it was well stocked with beer like he remembered. It was. He pulled a bottle out, cracked it open and downed two-thirds in one go.

"Slow down Tiger! In case you've forgotten, we've got a demon nest to fumigate," Jae said, crossing her arms, thrusting her ample bosom upward.

A deep frown creased Dean's forehead as he finished the bottle. "Have you ever heard of a demon that can put memories in your head?" he asked.

"What? No. What the hell has gotten into you?" She got up and moved toward Dean. She grabbed his shoulders and gave him a rough shake before staring up into his eyes. "You lose more blood than I thought?"

Dean brought his hands up and cupped her cheeks. "Listen to me, Jae. _This_, this right here has already happened," he told her.

Quirking a brow, she licked her lips and swallowed. "You mean like déjà vu?"

"No, not déjà vu. It has _actually _happened before. We've been here and done this already."

Jae smirked. "Yeah, like déjà vu."

"Not déjà vu, Jae! I don't _feel_ like this has happened, I _know_—"

"Like—"

"If you say déjà vu one more time, I will throw you to the demons."

Jae rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'll bite. If you know what's gonna happen, you know we'll kick these demons' asses, right?"

"Uh…not so much," he muttered, his hands falling to his sides. He exhaled slowly, looking away from the woman's incredulous, if not worried expression.

"Ah well, what do you know, right?" Jae wrapped her arms around Dean's waist and stuck her tongue out at him.

Dean held her for a moment, relieved to have her before him again. Perhaps all of those weird things that had happened with Sam were just a fever dream. He _had_ lost a lot of blood from his leg wound, but it all felt so real.

"Dean, something's wrong," she mumbled, leaning away from him, her breath quickening.

He looked down at her, his frown returning as the brief moment of relief dissipated. There was a sick knot in his gut when he saw the crimson dripping down Jae's thighs and felt the damp patch on his shirt.

Quickly and carefully, he took her over to the couch and peeled up her shirt. Somehow, miraculously he managed to hold down his stomach contents. The flesh of her abdomen was missing, muscle and organs exposed and rotting. The smell was that sickly, unforgettable stench of dead meat. She was rotting from the inside out, fluids dripping from the fatal wound and coating them both in the stink.

"Not now," she mumbled, shaking her head at Dean and twisting her blood soaked hands in his collar.

"Jae—"

"It's too soon. We aren't ready." Her voice was hoarse and starting to take on the more neutral tone it had at first.

Dean held her against his chest, ignoring the smell and the blood as he pet her hair.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, eyes wide in horror.

"Dean," she muttered, her eyes glazing over. Dean wasn't even sure how she was still conscious. Her eyes drifted shut and she went limp in his arms.

_This wasn't how it happened. She died in the hospital_ Dean reminded himself, shaking his head.

With a shuddering sigh, he lowered her to the couch. This wasn't any easier the second time. Dean shook his head and turned away from Jae's body. Something snagged his sleeve and he turned back toward her. It wasn't her anymore. A faceless monstrosity was holding his sleeve with clawed fingers. A slit in the thing's head opened and a screeching noise erupted into the room, loud enough to break glass.

Dean collapsed to his knees, pressing his hands to his ears. Somewhere over the screech, his name was being called.


	6. Chapter Four

"C'mon, Dean," Sam muttered again, smacking his brother's cheek in another attempt to wake him. The man had been out for a little over an hour and he had been left holding the bag. He had ganked another Armless Man and something that was more-or-less two pairs of legs stuck together at the waist. After that, he had pulled the cell door closed because he wasn't sure how long Dean would be unconscious.

"I am _so_ not carrying you out of here, dude," he said, his shoulders sagging. He frowned at the harsh expression on Dean's face. He looked like he was in pain. Sam sighed and glanced down at the dog bite on Dean's leg. Sam had taken this chance to wrap the wound without Dean's complaints.

Puffing a short breath through his nose, Sam pulled out his cell phone to try Bobby again. No signal. He resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall and looked down at his brother again. His breathing was quick and shallow and he was sweating bullets. Sam almost jumped out of his skin when he abruptly shot up off the cot, sucking in a harsh breath.

"Dean! What the hell?" Sam stared wide-eyed at Dean, who looked confused. His hazel eyes turned on Sam, his brow twitching as he twisted his hand in Sam's shirt.

"Sammy."

The tall man blinked at his brother. "Dean?"

Withdrawing his hands, Dean sighed with relief. "What the hell happened?" he asked, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and rubbing his hands over his face. Squinting against Sam's flashlight, he pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a groan.

"You passed out. Over an hour ago. Whatever it was you were dreaming, it didn't look good," Sam replied, shining his light at the floor.

"Did I talk in my sleep?" asked Dean, his eyes downcast.

"No, but you were doing some thrashing earlier. What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't really remember much," he said, shaking his head.

Sam scowled, but kept his mouth shut. He had heard that from Dean before and it didn't help to bug him about it for the truth. Blowing out a slow breath, Sam pushed himself to his feel. He opened the cell door again and poked his head out to check for monsters. The walk seemed clear, so he nodded at Dean.

"D'jyou check the lower level?" Dean asked, swinging his duffel over his shoulder.

"Yeah. More creepy crawlies and a staircase that goes up a helluva long way. I'm thinking it's probably a way out of the prison levels." Sam looked back over his shoulder as they headed downstairs.

Dean just nodded.

"You're being oddly quiet," said Sam as he led the way through the lower level.

A muscle in Dean's jaw leapt. "I'm just playing along with the eerily oppressive atmosphere," he answered, glancing around warily. A faint cry echoed through the room.

Sam shook his head but remained silent. As the boys made their way to the staircase, they stopped to check out a couple of rooms along the way.

"Okay, let's get the hell out of here. I don't particularly fell like hanging around here anymore," said Dean when they finished with what may have been an office. He pushed past his brother and went to the door Sam said had the staircase behind it. He pulled it open and swallowed hard. If the other staircase had been foreboding…The slick, rusted metal staircase was twisted and bent, stairs missing in places and entire sections of the hand rail were torn clean away. Bits of rotted meat hung limply from a jagged edge near the floor, a puddle of viscous fluid underneath. Dean cringed.

"Still worried about that tetanus shot?" teased Sam.

Dean glowered over his shoulder and took the stairs—carefully—two at a time. It was a long way up and at one point the combined weight of Sam and his duffel sent his foot through a corroded step. After freeing his foot, they hurried up the rest of the stairs as they wobbled and groaned beneath them. Finally, they reached a landing at the top with a door on one side.

Through the door was a big room devoid of everything but a couple of upturned chairs and a desk. The walls were lined with exposed pipes, three on each wall. One was spewing a revolting brown sludge into a grate on the floor. An oily substance coated the walls, making them glisten even in the dim lighting, and the air was permeated with the thick stench of a dozen or more sun-baked corpses.

"This looks nothing like the picture in _Better Homes and Gardens_," Dean joked humorlessly, staring at the thick glop splattering the floor to one side of the door on the opposite end of the room.

"It's like a living nightmare…"

Dean grunted in response and pulled the door open. Cool, but no less stagnant air hit him and he looked up. A deep black sky loomed overhead. They appeared to be in a fenced-in alley, garbage and papers littering the concrete. The walls around them had the same rust-blood-flesh-metal look as the prison. A gurney with a blood soaked mattress and frayed restraints was pushed haphazardly against an exposed brick wall.

"I don't even want to know why that's there," Dean muttered, nudging the wheel with the toe of his boot. The thing protested with a rusty squeak.

"Yeah, well nothing I've seen in the last four hours makes much sense, Dean," Sam commented. "I've never seen anything like this before…even in my nightmares."

A bizarre insect—Dean swore it had a human face—scurried from under the gurney and disappeared into a hole in the wall.

"You and me both, dude. But I'm curious. I wanna know what sick son of a bitch thinks this mess is a good idea."

Sam nodded, staring down at the gurney. He frowned.

Dean prodded him along and they navigated their way out onto the main roads. The asphalt had been replaced by more of the metal grating, fires and industrial framework resided below their feet.

"So, where do we go now?" Sam asked as they walked down the middle of the street.

Dean inhaled slowly, thinking. "Well, this all has to do with a cult, right? A pretty prominent one I would say. Why not start with a church?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's about as good a place as any. Which way?" The boys stopped at an intersection, a crooked unreadable sign on one corner of each street.

"Well, we've got some options. There are a few churches in town." Dean frowned as he tried to recall where they were. "There's the Balkan Church on Bloch, the—uh—Lutheran on Acadia, the St. Stella Church on Nathan and I think there was a small one somewhere between Wilson and Crichton. I'd say we start with the closest one, but I don't have a freakin' clue where we are." He did a full three-sixty, hobbling a little bit when he stepped on his injured leg wrong.

"A few of these buildings still have legible signs. Was every store labeled on the map?" asked Sam, licking his lips as he looked up at a building next to them. Green Pharmacy.

Dropping his duffel to the ground with a noisy clatter, he pulled the map from his pocket and opened it on top of what was once a mail box. He looked at it for a moment, flashlight beam wavering a bit.

"Okay, here we are. Koontz Street. Why the hell are the streets named after writers?" Dean asked, glancing up at Sam, who shrugged. "Anyway, here's the pharmacy and Wilson Street is just up there. Andy's Books is right on the corner. Shouldn't be hard to find our way up from there." He tucked the map away again and picked up his gear. He glanced around again before leading the way.

Finding their way to the church wasn't as easy as it should have been. In a couple of places the road ended in a bottomless pit, so they were forced to find detours. Monsters roamed the streets as well and in some places they were so thick they had to make extra detours just to conserve ammo. If they fought every one of them it wouldn't be long before they were down to knives and pilfered pipes or crowbars. Luckily enough, on one of their detours they came across a sporting goods and ammo store and were able to do a bit of a restock.

Dean wiped a splatter of the weird double-legged creature's blood from his face and spit on the metal grating. The thing had been blocking their access to the alley that led to the church, so they had to kill it. The metal turned back into concrete for the length of the alley, a blood trail on the ground leading precisely in the direction they needed to go. On the other end of the alley was a mid-sized lot, an ordinarily unimpressive white building built there. It stood out only because it was stark next to the dark world surrounding them.

"Looks a little too tidy to not have someone in there," said Sam, checking his weapon.

"Yeah, the Silent Hill psycho convention," grumbled Dean, looking to either side of the lot before making a beeline for the church. Light spilled out from under the door.

"All right Sammy, Let's go kick some zealot ass," Dean said, taking a deep breath.

Sam nodded and pushed the heavy wooden door open. They squinted at the bright light that spilled out, an insane quantity of candles flickered and cast shadows on the white pillars and polished wooden pews.

"Now this is a fire hazard," Dean muttered, his voice carrying through the empty, disappointingly normal-looking church. "Hello?" he called, panning his weapon across the aisle and into the pews.

Sam's brow creased. This place was suspiciously untouched. Not a mark, stain, or anything out of place. A lot of religions considered the church to be a sanctuary and maybe these people were no different.

"Anyone home?" Dean called again as he checked between the rows of pews. "He Who Walks Behind the Rows?"

Sam shook his head as he walked toward the altar. "Dean, there aren't even corn fields anywhere near here." He frowned at his brother's grin as he stepped on the dais. "Hey, there's a key up here," he called down to Dean, picking up the silver item. It was long with two teeth at the end and had a plain handle. He slipped it into his pocket with the doll. The key had been on top of a leather-bound book with the same seal that had been on the prison wall on the cover. He flipped it open and scanned a few pages. Sam found himself reading the same passages from the book at the prison. Now he was convinced it was a bible of sorts.

"Whatcha got there?" Dean asked, approaching Sam.

"The bible for the cult," answered Sam, snapping the book shut. He put it back on the podium, nudging aside the threadbare runner as he did so. Red paint caught his eye.

"Is that a mini Devil's Trap?" Dean asked, pushing the cloth aside completely. "That doesn't really seem like a great place for it…Besides, the church should—"

"It's not." Sam scowled at the arcane circle for a moment, trying to remember where he had seen it before. "This…Damn. I've seen this before."

"I still think it looks a little like a Devil's Trap, but some of the lines are wrong. Maybe we've just got a really bad artist on our hands?"

"No, I've seen this exact symbol. When I was going through the papers in that cell. This is an arcane circle used in a resurrection ritual. These people used some serious black magic to raise someone from Hell." Sam's eyes were wide as he looked at Dean.

Dean looked incredulous. "Last I heard, only an angel could do that."

"I don't know if they were successful, but they sure as hell tried."

An indignant growl and a curse made Sam look over at his brother. "Demons I can deal with, hell, I can even handle a witch or two, but if angels are getting mixed up in this mess too…" Dean scrubbed one hand through his short hair and readjusted the strap of his duffel. "What the hell is going on here?"

Sam shrugged. "Let's check out the rest of the church first," he said, pointing to a door on the left side of the altar.

Dean nodded and followed Sam down the steps and to the door. Their footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, but that was quiet compared to the creak of the door as they pushed it open. A standard office was behind the door, most of the floor space taken up by a desk, chair, filing cabinets, a bookshelf and a dead plant. The walls were decorated with a couple of ugly landscape paintings and a couple of framed quotes.

"I'll take the desk," Sam said, setting his duffel on the edge of it as he sat down. They were quiet as they shuffled through the contents of the office. The desk contained pretty typical things like writing utensils, paper, address book and the like. In the top middle drawer there was a book and a couple of manila folders. Sam pulled them out and started flipping through the book. It appeared to be a how-to guide to the cult.

"Apparently the cult in charge is called _The Order_. Their God is female and She will supposedly bring paradise through the suffering of mankind. 'The Holy Mother will be birthed by the Mother of God and bring Salvation'," Sam paraphrased from the book before opening the first file which was labeled _Wish House_.

"These people are sick!" snarled Dean. "To try and summon their God, they torched a little girl alive, or tried to at least. She was still alive when they took her to the hospital. She had third degree burns over the majority of her body. Her name was Alessa."

Sam cringed, his stomach in his throat. He had dealt with sacrifice before, a couple of times had even involved kids and it was always horrific. He had never dealt with a zealous cult wanting a town full of monsters though. He was beginning to think they were in over their heads this time.

"What's that?" Dean asked, looking over Sam's shoulder.

"Oh, um, there's an orphanage on the edge of the lake. It was built by the Silent Hill Smile Support Society for kids without homes," Sam said, looking down at the file.

"Awfully generous of 'em."

"Yeah, well they built it specifically to teach the kids the ways of theOrder."

"Ah." Dean stood up straight and frowned.

"Says it's been abandoned for a while, but it might be worth checking out…" suggested Sam, leaning back with a shrug.

Dean pulled the map out and opened it up on the desk. "The orphanage is on the edge of Toluca Lake, right? Okay…there's a road here leading off Vachss Road. It's on the north end of town."

"It's a bit of a hike, but worth a shot. I mean, it's not like we have any other leads at the moment."

"Yeah, but what are we expecting to find? We've already been across a big chunk of this town, talked to all of one person and found nothing but some religious bullshit. I'm getting royally pissed off," Dean complained as he folded the map back up and shoved it in his pocket. "Not to mention a sore back from lugging all these weapons around."

Sam quirked a brow in Dean's direction. "Not that I'm disagreeing with you or anything—I'm not—but you don't seem to be in top form today, Dean."

"I'm sorry I'm not performing to your expectations, Bigfoot," Dean grumbled sarcastically. "But between the Impala dying on the road, the mutant dog bite, the weird-ass monsters, being stuck in a town that I've never even heard of, the nightmare—both real and not—and dealing with, well, basically everything, I'm feeling just a tad grumpy today, Princess."

Sam stared blankly at his brother for a moment. "What the hell, dude?"

Dean licked his lips and looked at the ground as he puffed out a breath. He wished he had his flask with him.

"You've been at my throat a lot more than usual. What's wrong, Dean?"

"Look around you, Sam," Dean answered as he pushed his way past his brother. "Are we gonna sit around and share our feelings all day, or go gank us some psycho-ass cult leaders?" he asked with a twitch of his brow and his typical smirk in place again.

Sam wasn't satisfied, but he didn't really feel like getting into a full-blown argument right now. They had too many issues to deal with on top of what they had gotten into today. He sighed and settled on an amicable smile instead.

"Okay, so before we check out the rest of this place," Dean said, leading Sam out of the office. He didn't finish his sentence as he stopped dead and looked up at the altar. "Tell me; was that there when we came in?"

Sam stepped around Dean and looked up at the wall. A large symbol—what Sam had learned was called _The Halo of the Sun_—was painted in red. He stared. "No, that's new."

"That's what I thought."


	7. Chapter Five

His nose itched and he wanted nothing more than to scratch the damn thing. The trickle of blood and sweat dribbling down his skin was more distressing to him than being chained up on display for the bloody Ferals. The dog-like creatures had no skin, no eyes, no ears and dripped blood like it was in endless supply. They prowled, gnashed and growled in the pit below while he sweat out his punishment.

The Priestess had seen the two young men in town a few hours earlier. They were the best candidates for the ritual. The blood of two strong, healthy men was nearly perfect—of course, it would have been better if one of them was female, but beggars can't be choosers. It was his job to lure the men to their death, but he had not been very successful as of late. Thus the _wise_ Priestess concluded he needed to be punished. This was more of a bore than a punishment in his eyes. He was supposed to be terrified, but he had dealt with the beasts on too regular a basis to find them more than a nuisance now.

In his eyes, the Priestess was selfish. She wanted everything to be done her way and to be done instantly. She was like a child. Valtiel would not rush for her, or anyone, save the Holy Mother.

None-the-less, he needed to proceed with preparations. Doubts had been planted in the stubborn one's head, which would make it much easier to lure him. The tall one was next and it would be easier to convince him. A plan just needed to be made.

While he hung from the steel grate, he could feel the world shifting once again and the mutts below were becoming uneasy.

* * *

><p>"So the place is normal again?" Dean asked as he warily stepped outside. He could see the street from here.<p>

"As normal as it can be for being plagued with a murderous cult and monsters," Sam answered with a nod. When he had gone over to examine the fresh symbol, the weird air raid sirens had sounded again. They stepped outside, abandoning the search in favor of checking out the street. Everything was back to how it had been.

"Who keeps doing that?" Dean demanded, arms spread wide as he spun in a circle, examining the foggy street.

Sam shrugged. "Sharalynn or one of her followers, most likely."

"We really need to find that woman."

"Hey, I've been thinking…"

Dean rolled his eyes. "There's a shocker."

"…that resurrection circle in the church," Sam continued, ignoring Dean, "Do you remember how Jesse told us Herman was dead?"

"You think Sharalynn brought him back to life?" Dean scowled at the concrete.

"Someone did. Maybe it's some way to summon a Crossroads Demon, one we've never heard of. I dunno…I'm also getting the feeling we're being led along, like with this key. Someone is leaving this stuff out for us to find." Sam put his hand in his pocket, fingers brushing over the doll as they wrapped around the key.

"Took you long enough to clue into that bit of info," Dean paused in his insult to fill a skinned dog full of holes. "I was thinking that when we saw the drawing in the prison. But honestly, nothing bothers me more than the phantom town. As far as I know, it didn't even exist until yesterday. I've been all over this damn state and not once did I see hide nor hair of this place."

All Sam could do was shrug. It was bizarre that the town would pop up out of nowhere. He shook his head and pulled the key out of his pocket, handing it to Dean. "We need to find out what this opens."

"Did you catch this on the handle here?" Dean asked, examining the item. "Says '_two white birds in a tarnished cage'_. What the hell? Isn't that supposed to be a gilded cage?" He handed the key back to Sam, brow creased in confusion.

"Typically, but I'm way past the point of questioning things here, Dean."

The boys fell silent as they weaved their way through an alley littered with boxes, dumpsters and garbage cans. A can toppled behind them and they both spun, weapons raised. They waited a few heartbeats and when nothing crept out of the shadows they continued onward.

Dean carefully hopped up on a dumpster, ignoring the pain in his leg. He wrinkled his nose when he caught a whiff of the contents of what he was standing on. "This smells worse than garbage should."

Sam lifted one side of the lid and peeked inside. "I don't see anything weird. Mind you, it's all in bags." He let the lid drop and hopped up to join Dean as he leapt the fence into the next property. It was a construction area, building materials sitting in neat piles around the fence and abandoned vehicles parked in the not-quite-muddy lot.

"Dude, you've got something stuck to your boot," said Dean as he ducked under a girder.

Sam leaned against a half-finished wall and lifted his foot. A piece of yellowed paper splattered with blood clung to the tread of his boot. He picked it off and frowned at the damp sheet.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

"A poem," answered Sam, handing the paper to Dean.

_Forfeit Death_

_And cage in Life_

_In the nest_

_A dire fright_

_A bloody mess_

_The perfect sight_

_Lungs and liver_

_And heart alike_

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean grumbled, thrusting the paper back at Sam.

"I dunno, but it's kinda creepy," he answered, folding the paper and slipping it into one of his jean pockets.

"Everything around here is creepy, you moron. We keep getting information, but nothing is pointing us in one direction. It's like a wild goose chase, but with a purpose if that makes any sense." Dean frowned at his own words.

Sam nodded. "I get what you mean. It'll probably sort itself out eventually."

"If it doesn't, we'll have to force it," said Dean, grunting in effort as he climbed another fence. This time they found themselves in a parking lot behind a small convenience store. Another abandoned vehicle was parked haphazardly across three spaces.

The front and side of the store was all wide windows covered in various posters, flyers and advertisements. Through the papers, Dean could see the coolers at the back of the store. "Are you thirsty? I'm thirsty," he said, pushing the front door open. A sensor made a sickly _bing-bong_ sound, notifying any inhabitants of the new comers. No one was there to notice.

Sam went to check out the back office while Dean went straight to the wall of coolers. He pulled out a bottle of water with an opaque label that covered it from the neck right to the bottom. Twisting off the cap, he tipped it back against his lips and took a big gulp. Almost as soon as it went down, it came back up. Dean bent over as the contents of his stomach splattered wetly on the tile. When he was done, he spit a couple of times for good measure and straightened up. Whatever was in that bottle was not, by any stretch of the imagination, water. It was thick and pungent and smelled worse than it had tasted.

"Dean, you okay?" Sam asked, appearing beside him and glancing down at the puddle of vomit. His nose wrinkled.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat, his voice sounding ragged in his ears. "What do you think this is?" he asked, handing the bottle to Sam. His brother looked inside the bottle and jerked his head back when he smelled the contents.

"I don't know, but it's probably better if you don't find out," Sam answered, setting the bottle down on an empty shelf.

Dean was still scowling at the taste in his mouth as he reached into the cooler again. This time he picked a bottle that he could see through. He chugged half the bottle before stopping for a breath. Finishing off the bottle, he grabbed a few more and shoved them into his duffel before going to find something to eat.

Sam wandered up and down the aisles as he waited for his brother. He had grabbed a bottle of water, but his appetite had long since deserted him. He kept an eye on the entrance and an eye on Dean as well. The man got distracted when it came to food, no matter what kind of trouble they were in. Currently he was stuffing a couple of candy bars into his jacket pocket while one dangled from his lips. Sam shook his head and went to wait by the front counter.

"You all set?" Sam asked Dean when he joined him.

"Yup," replied Dean, tossing his candy bar wrapper into the trash can by the door. He hefted his duffel and trudged to the door. It beeped again when he pushed it open.

Sam followed his brother out into the parking lot, watching him limp a little as they resumed their vaguely northward path. He sighed inwardly. Usually on a job he had at least some small idea of what was going to come next and what they should do about it. They were walking blind with only a key, an obscure poem, a drawing and a little girl's doll to help them figure things out. Not exactly confidence inspiring.

"Looks like this road is a dead end," Dean said, startling Sam from his thoughts.

Sam looked out at the abyss that stretched before them. Like a few other of the main roads, this one simply ended. It was almost like something had scooped the town up and placed it smack-dab in the middle of nowhere. Another plane of existence, even.

"Well, let's head back to the last intersection and try and different route," suggested Sam.

Dean nodded, turning back the way they came. Sam fell into step beside him.

"Seems odd that we haven't seen a single other human being besides Jesse," Dean said as they trudged back up the road.

"Yeah, but that seems a bit more odd," answered Sam, coming to a halt at the intersection. He pointed down at the cracked and chipped concrete to where a trail of blood led off in one direction.

"That wasn't there a few minutes ago…"

Sam's jaw tensed as he took a few steps forward. The streaks of blood were vivid and fresh, but they hadn't heard or seen anything. There must have been some sort of struggle to create this amount of blood.

When he looked up, he saw Dean was already heading up the road, following the trail of blood. Sam only had to take a few strides to catch up since his legs were much longer than his brother's. He glanced over at Dean, who was staring intently at the blood as he followed it, his brow creased deeply. He slowly drew his weapon, tipping his head slightly, listening. Sam couldn't hear anything yet, but pulled his weapon as well. The longer they followed, the darker and thinner the trail became, but eventually Sam heard what Dean was listening for; a faint scraping sound, like metal on concrete. It got louder as the blood trail grew faint. The trail eventually stopped at a dead and drained leg monster. It had been tossed aside, one set of legs bent over the other. The scraping sound continued, still growing louder as if it was coming toward them. They waited. Sam wasn't sure what was keeping him there. Was it his morbid curiosity or the ingrained need to help destroy the evil of the world?

When the source of the sound finally showed, Sam's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. If someone had asked him what he felt, he honestly would not have been able to answer.

"What the hell…" Dean's voice was tight as he watched the figure that came into view at the opposite end of the alley. The monster was tall and muscular, wearing a pale leathery apron wrapped around its hips that obscured its legs and feet. Its chest was bare, pale and scarred, as were its arms. Its hands, both of which were currently occupied, were covered in bloodied surgical gloves. One carried a dripping corpse of some unfortunate being, the other wrapped around the grip of a comically oversized knife, the blade dragging on the ground behind him. None of that was as disturbing as the giant metal, pyramid-shaped helmet that looked like it had been bolted onto the man's head. It was elongated, hanging heavily off the wearer's shoulders like some sort of cruel medieval torture device. Whatever the man was now, it certainly wasn't human.

Sam took an involuntary step back as the horrifying pyramid-headed monster tossed the corpse it held aside like a sack of garbage. The thing continued to move steadily toward the brothers, its pace agonizingly slow under the weight of its weapon and helmet.

"Sam…?" Dean's voice was unsteady as he backed up.

Sam continued to take backward steps as he leveled his pistol with the monster's chest. He squeezed the trigger and buried the bullet right where the thing's heart should have been. It kept coming steadily toward them, now bringing his giant knife out beside him. He lifted it, straightening his arm so it and the weapon were parallel with the road. It twisted its torso, preparing to swing.

"Run!" Sam finally shouted, grabbing Dean's arm as he turned back in the direction they had originally come. He paced himself so that Dean remained in front of him while they sprinted back up the road. They bolted straight past the convenience store as well as a couple of other businesses and didn't stop until they found themselves in the narrow lobby of an apartment building.

Dean doubled over, his hands on his knees, panting. "What. The hell. Was that?" he asked between breaths. He leaned against the rows of mail boxes, his eyes darting toward the door.

"How am I supposed to know?" replied Sam, pushing his sweaty hair off his forehead. He wasn't out of shape by any stretch, but his legs were burning after the three-block sprint. He was satisfied they were safe for now because the pyramid-headed thing moved so slowly.

"How're we doing for ammo?" Dean eventually asked, standing up straight. "I'm down to my last couple of clips for the pistol."

"Me too."

Dean sighed. "I guess it'll have to do for now. As long as we don't run into Pyramid Head again."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Does it really matter what we call it?" Dean almost rolled his eyes at his brother as he headed down a long door-lined hallway. He checked each door as he came to it, but all of the ones on the first floor were locked. There was a staircase at the end of the hall as well as a fire exit. They took the stairs up to the next floor. The first door on the right side was ajar, so they pushed it open and entered the apartment. It looked pretty standard as far as apartments went, and nothing seemed out of place.

"Hello?" Sam called cautiously, his weapon ready just in case.

"Do you really think there's gonna be an answer?" Dean grumbled, moving down a short hallway that led to the bedroom and bathroom.

"No, but just in case someone was here, I figured I'd announce myself and not get a bullet to the head," replied Sam, frowning as he pushed the bathroom door open. He immediately regretted doing so and closed the door again. "Find anything?" he asked Dean when he came back out of the bedroom.

Dean shook his head. "You?"

"Nothing but an inhumanly filthy bathroom. I wouldn't open that door if I were you…"

Dean made a face and led the way back out to the hall. On every floor they found more of the same. Locked doors and empty apartments. The top floor had a different layout than the other floors, combining four double sized apartments instead of the eight regular ones. One of the doors was locked, two were empty and the fourth had noises coming from inside.

The brothers exchanged a glance. "Does that sound like crying to you?" asked Sam.

"Yeah." Dean reached out and twisted the doorknob. The door was unlocked so they let themselves in. The foyer of the apartment was lined with family photos, a closet off to one side and a shoe rack on the other. The living room was big, a sectional pushed up against one wall opposite the flat screen television. They checked every corner of the room but no one was there, so they moved on to the kitchen. It too was empty. They could still hear the crying and it sounded like it was coming from everywhere. They listened hard, but still couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. Finally Sam announced their presence and the crying stopped abruptly. It was quiet for a moment and then they heard the creak of door hinges.

Sam tucked his pistol into his waistband and went down the hall. A door was sitting open at the end. "Are you okay?" he asked into the room. The crying person still hadn't shown themself. Sam let his eyes wander over the bedroom while he waited for an answer. It looked like a little girl's room, everything painted in various shades of pink.

Dean was getting impatient in the hallway, but Sam waited until he saw a hint of dark brown hair. He knelt down, setting his duffel on the floor.

"Are you alone here?" he asked when a tear-streaked face joined the hair.

"Do you know where my mommy and daddy are?" the little girl asked, wiping her hand across her face.

Sam sighed. "No, I don't."

The girl looked down at the floor. "Oh."

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked gently.

The little girl came out from behind the bed. She sniffed loudly. "Jessica," she said with a hiccup.

Sam offered her a smile, albeit a pained one. "Can I call you Jess?"

She nodded at him.

"Hi, Jess. My name is Sam and this is my big brother Dean," he introduced, motioning Dean into the room.

Jessica's eyes went wide when she spotted Dean's pistol.

Sam frowned at his brother. "Put your gun away, you're scarring her." He looked back at the girl. "It's okay, we aren't going to hurt you." Sam stood up and the little girl looked amazed by his height. At least, that was what he thought until she ran toward him and grabbed at his jacket. She stood on her tip-toes and was barely able to reach into his pocket. She pulled out the door, the key hitting the floor as she did so.

"Where did you find her?" she asked, hugging the doll and then Sam's legs

"In a car on the highway," Sam replied.

"I must have left her by accident!"

Dean was getting tired of standing around while the girl and his brother chatted like there wasn't anything weird going on. "You said you didn't know where your parents are. Where did you last see 'em?"

Jessica had one arm wrapped around Sam's leg and the other around her doll. She looked up at Dean, still wary of him. "We were walking to the hotel after the car broke. A bunch of men in red hoods took them away. They tried to get me too, but I ran."

"Do you know what they wanted you and your parents for?" Sam asked, looking down at her.

She shook her head and clutched at his leg a little more tightly.

Dean reached down and retrieved the key, handing it back to Sam. "We can't hang around here all day."

"I know, but…" be looked down at Jessica, who looked back at him with big brown eyes. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, and she was here all by herself. He didn't want to leave her here, but they couldn't take her with them, either. On the other hand, if they hadn't run into that monster, they probably wouldn't have met her.

"Look, I know what you're thinking Sammy, but we've got a job to do and we can't do it if we're babysitting." Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets and put his weight on his uninjured leg.

After an internal struggle, Sam disentangled Jessica's arms from his leg and squatted in front of her. She looked both confused and heartbroken as she met his gaze. He took her tiny hand in his and smiled at her.

"You aren't staying, are you?" she asked, her bottom lip trembling.

"Don't cry," he said, still smiling. "My brother and I are going to find your parents, okay? We can't do that if we stay here."

She gave a tentative little nod.

"How long have you been here by yourself?"

She furrowed her brow, thinking. "I think three days. I've been hiding here since mommy and daddy got taken."

"You're a very brave girl," Sam said to her. "Will you be able to stay by yourself a little longer?"

She nodded.

"You've got enough food?"

She nodded again.

"Good. I promise we'll be back as soon as we can." Sam stood up.

"And you'll find my mom and dad?" she asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Sam's throat was tight. All he could do was nod. She didn't seem to notice his hesitation. Still holding her doll, she hugged Sam's legs tightly and then went over to Dean and looked up at him. He quirked a brow at her, but she hugged his legs too.

"Thank you, mister," she said, staring up at Dean. He swallowed hard, but bent down so he was eye level with Jessica.

"We'll try our best, kid, but this is a big town…" He started to say something else, but the little girl cut him off by planting a kiss on his cheek.

"I know you'll find them, 'cause you're both big and strong!" She smiled through the tear streaks on her face. Her spirits seemed to have been lifted by the not-quite-a-promise that they'd find her parents.

"Uh, yeah. Like I said, we'll do our best." Dean stood back up. "Just make sure you lock the door when we leave, okay?"

She nodded vigorously, clutching her doll.

With more empty promises and guarantees, Dean practically dragged Sam from the apartment. The door closed behind them and they heard a soft click of one of the locks. They walked silently back downstairs.

"You do know we probably won't find them, right?"

Sam nodded. He didn't need to be told that, but regardless of how things turned out, Sam was going back for the little girl. There was no way he could just leave her there to fend for herself.

"So, do you think that thing followed us?" Dean now asked, looking out onto the street.

Sighing, Sam shrugged. "Only one way to find out," he answered, pushing the heavy glass door open. He pulled out his gun again and looked up and down the street. "Looks clear to me."

Dean looked up and down the street as well, but he saw a couple of the armless men and a dog gnawing on something, wet fleshy sounds echoing on the still air. He frowned up at his brother. "Yeah, okay Rambo." Dean started off in the opposite direction of the creatures, hoping to get them back on track. They had been heading north toward the town orphanage, but had gotten seriously turned around after their encounter with Pyramid Head. Dean had no desire to have another encounter, so he took them in a wide, vaguely northward circle, staying as far away from the place they had run into him as possible.

Sam wasn't talking to him, but that wasn't worrying Dean. He was obviously thinking about the little girl, but he knew there was nothing they could do. She was safe where she was, and that was more than anyone could hope for in this town.


	8. Chapter Six

The forest on the edge of the lake was dark and thick. Strange sounds filtered through the tall trees, similar to weeping and screaming. It was enough to send a chill up anyone's spine.

On their way to the orphanage, the boys had to climb over piles of rubble that almost made Vachss Road impassable, but since they didn't know where else to go, they stubbornly made their way over the debris. Before they entered the thickest part of the forest, they could see a tower rising above the trees and agreed not to visit the ominous looking building. It seemed to loom over the forest, threatening visitors with its presence.

The wailing accompanied Sam and Dean on their walk toward the orphanage, warning them away. It didn't dissuade them because of all the things they had seen since they arrived in Silent Hill, ghosts would almost be welcome.

"I can smell the lake, so we must be getting close," said Dean, panning his flashlight beam over the path.

"Yeah, and I can smell wood smoke, too." Sam frowned, glancing over at his brother. They hadn't seen any smoke and they couldn't see or hear fire, so either it was controlled, or had already been put out.

The further they walked, the stronger the smell became. It wasn't long before they had reached a clearing and found the source of the cloying odor. The remnants of a building slumped in a charred, splintered pile, ash sprinkled over the surrounding grounds.

Dean turned his head slowly, pinning Sam with a blank stare. "I take it the report didn't say the place had burnt to the ground?"

Sam sheepishly shook his head.

Shaking his head, Dean trudged over to the pile of charcoal, nudging a loose bit with the toe of his boot. It crumbled to ash. He walked around the perimeter of the burned out building, seeing outlines where rooms used to be. A few small parts of the structure still remained upright, but the roof of the two story building had completely caved in. There was a square door in the ground near the front of the former building which Dean assumed led down to a basement.

"There's nothing here, dude," he said to Sam, turning away from the blackened wood pile.

"Another dead end. Great." Sam ran a hand through his shaggy hair. "Well, what next?"

Dean sat down hard on a big, flat rock. "I don't know, Sammy." He let his head fall into his hands and let out a long breath. "We're looking for one, maybe two people in a big abandoned town. It's like finding a needle in a haystack." He took another breath and looked back up at Sam. They were both tired and their feet hurt from pounding the pavement all day.

"Well, we can't sit here," said Sam, trying to get Dean up. He hated when his brother went all defeatist on him.

"Well, I don't have any better ideas right now, do you?" Dean looked up at Sam from under his eyebrows. He closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the lids.

"No, but I'm pretty certain sitting in a forest on the outskirts of a town overrun by monsters is pretty low on the good ideas list. I suggest at least finding somewhere with a little more cover," Sam answered with a shrug.

Dean sat there for a moment longer before pushing himself to his feet. "Yeah, whatever. I guess we need to plot our next move any—" The end of his sentence was cut short by a crash and a shift of rubble in the perimeter of the former building.

"What was that?" Sam spun on his heel, raising his weapon.

"Just the rubble settling," replied Dean, walking toward the charred remains of the structure. "The hatch covering the basement fell in, is all." He was about to turn away from the hole when both a smell and a flicker of light caught his attention. "Wait here a minute," he told Sam as he leaned over the hole, eyeing up the staircase.

"Wait! You're actually going down there?"

"Yeah. There's a light on, so somebody must be home."

"Be careful."

Dean waved over his shoulder before descending the suspiciously new-looking staircase. He moved slowly, trying not to make any sounds as he went down each step. The solid wooden steps didn't creak, which made his life easier. Once he reached the bottom, he panned his gun from one side of the room to the other. The left side was empty save for a table and a couple of lanterns, the right side on the other hand…

"Holy shit," whispered Dean, eyes taking in the site before him. Two enormous candles on stands illuminated a tall cage, the bronze finish rubbed off in places to reveal a mottled green color. The cage was raised off the ground by about a foot and two bodies slumped over one another inside. The bodies didn't grab his attention nearly as much as the charred circle on the floor under the cage and striking black imprints of two large sets of wings on the walls. The inhabitants of the cage had been angels.

He tore his eyes away from the sight to finish surveying the room. The only way in or out was where he had come down and the dead angels were the only occupants. A table with a few open books was against a wall and another wall had a half-finished blood seal painted on it. Dean had never been so glad to have the Enochian Sigils carved into his ribs.

Determining there wasn't anything of immediate threat, he approached the cage cautiously. He went around the perimeter of the cage and stopped dead when he saw the Angelic Blade protruding from one corpse's chest.

Dean reached into the cage, stretching as far as he could. The circumference of the cage was bigger than he thought and no where he stood allowed him to reach the blade. He cursed and tossed his duffel down, kneeling beside it. Pulling open the zipper, he searched through the contents. His lock picks weren't there. Another curse passed through his lips as he zipped up the duffel and stood. He stared at the cage with a frown. Wrapping his hand around one of the bars, he rattled the cage door to no effect. The lock was solid.

"Wait…" Leaving his duffel on the floor, he went back up the stairs as fast as his injured leg would carry him. Sam was waiting a couple of feet from the hole. "Dude, give me the key."

"What? Why?" asked Sam, startled.

"Just hand it over."

Scowling, Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew the inscribed key. He handed it to Dean and watched as his brother went back into the basement.

"Two white birds in a tarnished cage…and here I thought it would be something a little more metaphorical," Dean mumbled to himself, flipping the key over in his hand. He took a deep breath, looked at the lock and slid the key home. He turned it and a very satisfying click reached his ears. He grinned as he pulled the cage door open with a rusty creak. The cage tilted when he leaned inside to take the blade. When he pulled the blade out, the dead angel's meat suit gave a wet squelch and Dean wiped it clean on the guy's clothes. Smiling to himself, he turned the blade over in his hands, the surface glinting in the candle light. Satisfied, he turned to retrieve his duffel from where he left it on the floor.

"What did you find down there?" Sam asked when Dean emerged once again.

"This," answered Dean, showing Sam the angel killing blade with a huge grin on his face.

Sam's eyes couldn't have gotten any bigger if they tried. "Is that real?"

"If the two dead angels in the basement are anything to go by, I'd say yes."

"Two dead angels?"

"In a cage."

"You're kidding."

Dean slipped the Angelic weapon into his jeans at the small of his back. "I wish."

"Okay, what the hell is going on here?" Sam asked as they started back through the forest.

"That is a really good question. We've got monsters, a cult and now two dead angels. All we're finding is more questions and a suspicious absence of answers. If angels are involved in this, it can't be good." Dean sighed and readjusted his duffel.

"No kidding…" Sam pushed a low-hanging branch out of the way and let it swing back into place when they were out of range.

The boys walked in silence, reveling in the slight normalcy of the forest. No monsters, no sign that anything was wrong other than the eerie silence that had replaced the former weeping.

"I still don't know what we're gonna do," Dean finally said, panting as they climbed back over the rubble pile blocking the road into town.

"I thinking we could go to the town hall or the historical society, maybe the public records building. We're still looking for Sharalynn and Herman, right? Public records will probably have something on them. Or at the very least we could learn more about the town and the Order," suggested Sam, stumbling as a rock shifted underfoot.

Dean reached the road first and frowned in thought as he waited. "Historical Society is closer, so we can start there I guess. Would be nice to know what we're dealing with at least on some level." He scoffed as Sam joined him.

"I knew I should have grabbed that book from the church. Having one of their religious texts might be helpful."

"I think there's a church on the way if you want to nab one…"

Sam nodded vaguely as they walked along Nathan Avenue. As they walked several dog creatures attacked them, but they were running low on ammo. The first building they reached was the Ridgeview Medical Clinic and Dean managed to scrounge a couple of temporary short-range weapons in the form of random bits of pipe. He wasn't comfortable letting the beasts get that close, but better them than the giant sword-wielding maniac with the metal helmet.

With their newly acquired weapons, the boys continued up the road. The fire station sat on the corner and just past that was the church. Not entirely keen on going into his second church of the day, Dean waited outside, duffel slung over his shoulder, pipe resting on the other. He stayed close to the building so nothing could sneak up behind him.

He stood there, waiting and watching while Sam looked for the Order's version of the bible inside St. Stella's Church. A few minutes ticked by and Dean got tired of waiting, so he went inside to see what was taking so long.

Pushing the door open with a creak, he walked up the aisle. Sam was standing up at the altar, head down with an enormous book open on the podium before him.

"What the ho—oly hell, what is that thing?" On the wall behind Sam, halfway to the ceiling was a man—or what used to be a man. It was crawling on the wall, head a constant twitching blur. Its hands seemed to be bandaged or bound so that each one had only three fingers; thumb, pinky and a thick one in the middle made from the index, middle and ring fingers. On its erratically twitching head, Dean could just barely make out some sort of mask that was leathery, almost skin-like. Dean wanted to look away, but its spasming movements, filthy, torn skin and stitched up clothing were hard to look away from.

"What's what?" Sam asked before looking over his shoulder. He nearly fell on his ass trying to back up when he saw what Dean was looking at. Almost like a spider, the thing crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling. "What are those tattoos on its shoulders?" Sam now asked, pulling his gun from his waistband.

"Least of my concerns right now, Sammy!" exclaimed Dean, even though he had noticed the odd design on both of the creature's shoulders. It was essentially a triangle inside a circle inside a larger circle with some bizarre symbols inside.

Sam pulled the trigger right after Dean spoke and the shot hit the thing's leg, but didn't slow it down as it crawled toward the far wall. Dean was about to fire his own gun when there was a blinding flash of white light and the thing was gone. Everything had happened so fast that Dean almost believed he hadn't really seen anything.

"Why are you here?"

Dean started at the voice, but when he saw the source and the Angel-Banishing blood seal he first felt relief and then a little annoyed. "I could ask you the same thing, Cas! Aren't those things supposed to make you disappear, too?"

"What was that?" added Sam.

Castiel brought his hand down from the blood seal, which Dean noticed was not the same one they had been using to get rid of angels. Castiel walked toward the brothers, seeming a bit more tense than usual as he glanced toward the door of the church. "That was Valtiel," he eventually answered, gruff voice strained.

Dean frowned deeply, taking a step toward Castiel. "And you're going to tell us that that _thing_ was an angel?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"He was, but was cast out of Heaven for his association to the Order. He has interred himself to a god born of suffering and chaos. He is cruel and sadistic. His servitude to Him was ended a long time ago."

"That happens?" Sam's eyes got wide.

Castiel frowned and turned back toward Sam and Dean. "Usually, no. His case is a unique one that we've had to keep in check for many years."

Dean brought up his free hand and waved it vaguely beside him. "So you know about all this bullshit?"

"Yes," the angel answered simply.

"Yes? That's all you have to say? Me and Sam have been running around town, fending off monsters and living nightmares and you don't feel like supplying just a tad more information?" Dean asked, quirking a brow and scowling at Castiel. His fist tightened around the pipe he had propped on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't even be here. We had placed seals around this place so the innocent wouldn't be sacrificed in the name of the Order's deity."

"Well they clearly aren't working."

Sam stepped forward. "Hey, um, Cas? Can you tell me what those tattoos on Valtiel's shoulders were?"

Dean glared at Sam.

"He is branded with the Seal of Metatron."

"Is that the same Metatron from Judaism?" Sam asked, eyebrows rising into his hairline.

"He was a Scribe for Heaven, but no one knows his whereabouts. If Valtiel is branded with his seal, he may be nearby." Castiel took a few steps toward the door of the church. Dean followed.

"So Cas, care to fill us in on the situation?" he asked. He stepped in front of Castiel, blocking his way to the door, not that it would do any good if he chose to disappear.

Castiel frowned at Dean. "It may be easier for you to tell me what you already know."

Scrubbing one hand through his hair, Dean told Cas about the blog, Sharalynn and Herman, the little girl, Pyramid Head and the dead angels. When he finished, he tried to assess Castiel's expression, but that was not an easy task.

"Have you found either Sharalynn or her son?"

"Son?" asked Sam, glancing at Dean.

"Herman. You need to find them before they find you. If Herman manages to get to you he will syphon off your blood for the last ritual needed to summon what they call God. This will bypass the Seals and usher in the Apocalypse."

"Well that doesn't sound good…" mumbled Dean.

"Silent Hill has been a demon gathering place for many years, but the activity was exacerbated when the Order attempted to burn a little girl because they believed she was a witch," explained Castiel.

"Sounds like the little girl we read about at the other church. Alessa, wasn't it?" Sam interrupted, but received a nod from Castiel.

"Yes, her name was Alessa Gillespie. Unfortunately she survived and they incarcerated her in the basement of one of the town's hospitals. Due to all of her suffering, her soul split and her darkness overran the town. Many people have tried to stop the evil from festering here, but the results have only been temporary. It was decided that we should intervene. We have been trying to stop both the Order and any rogue angels helping them, but we have only been able to separate the town from the normal plane of existence." Castiel now stepped past Dean and through the doors that opened before him.

Dean followed Castiel onto the road. "So you're saying this is all happening because of a pissed off little girl's spirit?"

The angel shook his head. "While the darkness in Alessa may have been the reawakening of the Otherworld, this has long since grown beyond her. Her soul was fused again years ago, but by then the damage had been done." He fell silent for a moment, looking down the road in the direction Sam and Dean had come from. "You said that you had already experienced the Otherworld."

Keeping an eye out for monsters, Dean followed Castiel as he headed back down the road. "If you're talking about when everything started decaying and changing around us, then yeah," he replied, glancing over his shoulder at Sam.

"Did you see Valtiel then?" Castiel now asked.

"No."

Castiel nodded to himself. "He must have stayed hidden. Have either of you slept?"

"Dean did," Sam offered.

"Involuntarily. Something knocked me out."

The persistent scowl on the angel's face deepened.

Dean let out a frustrated grunt and stepped out in front of Castiel, cutting him off. "What the hell is going on, Cas? Why does it matter if I slept or not?" he demanded, cringing as he stepped down hard on his injured leg.

Castiel pressed his hand to Dean's forehead for a brief second and when he pulled back, Dean's leg felt amazingly better. Bending down, he peeked under the bandage and the wound was gone.

"Thanks, dude."

"You'll need to be fit if you want to survive. This town is alive. Many people have fallen victim to it before and many more will fall after we are gone. It bends itself to the subconscious of those who enter, creating beasts and monsters best suited to the individual's greatest fears and desires. The monster you spoke of with the metal helmet—Pyramid Head, I believe you called him—I have seen him before. I know enough to know he is coming for you, Dean."

Dean's jaw almost hit the floor. "Me? What the hell did I do to piss off Tall Dark and Stabby?"

Castiel seemed to be resisting the urge to smack Dean. "You don't get it, Dean. It's not what you _did_, it's who you _are_. And you have the prime personality to attract his attention." He turned away from the brothers and continued walking.

Sam let out a low whistle. "I knew you had issues, dude, but wow…" He grinned at Dean despite the gravity of the situation.

Without a glance over his shoulder, Castiel spoke to Sam. "The corrupt nature of your soul has attracted something equally as horrifying. Your soul and personality are far more sullied than your brother's. The creatures will come in greater numbers to find you."

The brother's exchanged a glance, the uneasiness clear in their eyes. It was true that Sam had not been having a very good time over the last few years—neither of them had—but to say that his soul was so damaged that he had hordes of custom-made monsters after him…Sam didn't know what to think about that.

"Do you mind telling us where we're going?" Dean finally asked after they turned the corner at the clinic, heading south.

"To find Herman. He'll be setting another lure for you, trying to please his mother. He doesn't want to be sent back to Hell."

That would explain the resurrection circle they had seen earlier. "Okay," Dean said, licking his lips, "but you seem to have a destination in mind. Where _exactly_ are you leading us?"

"The Cedar Grove Sanitarium."

"…Awesome."

The brothers and their angelic guide fell silent as they continued to walk. Sam and Dean kept their eyes peeled for monsters, but it almost seemed like Castiel's presence was warding them off. That was fine with them.

For the first time since they arrived, Dean was able to actually look around somewhat without fear of something sneaking up and biting him in the ass. He didn't let his guard down of course, but he wasn't so focused on monsters. As they walked, he saw all the shop fronts and buildings that gave this place the look of a normal town. It probably was at one point, but it certainly wasn't any more. The visible spirits floating around in the Dargento Cemetery added yet another reinforcement to that point.

Across from the cemetery was Overlook Penitentiary. It had to be separate from the prison they had visited. It was close to where they came up, but unless another tunnel connected the two, it wasn't quite close enough. They walked past the prison and the curiously placed Artaud Theater. Beyond those was a stretch of apartment buildings and a few small businesses. It wasn't much further to the Sanitarium.

"Why would he be in a sanitarium?" Sam finally asked, effectively ending the lengthy silence. "I'm sure there are better places in town for him to hide."

"He's here because he's familiar with this place. It was his home for a number of years," Castiel replied dryly.

"Awesome. So not only are we dealing with a psycho, we're dealing with a psycho who has a contagious illness." Dean sighed heavily.

"Herman is not physically ill. This building also housed an overflow of the mentally unstable," explained Castiel when they stepped up to the gate of the property.

Dean tipped his head back to look up at the sign over the gate. Cedar Grove Sanitarium. "Oh, that sounds _so_ much better. Oh well, no time like the present, I guess." Pulling his gun, Dean stepped through the enormous gate. A long trail snaked up toward the building itself where it sat on a hill. It was foreboding, but if they could get some answers, or maybe put a stop to this, then Dean didn't care what the building looked like.

Sam and Castiel followed Dean up the hill, the oppressive silence weighing them down. Yet it almost felt like the building was beckoning them to its perch on the hill.

After the hike up the trail, a large parking lot sat between them and the building. It was mostly empty save for two cars at the far end of the lot. They ignored the cars and crossed to the front door of the sanitarium.

"Well, crap."

On the door of the sanitarium, painted in vivid red blood, was an Enochian Sigil.


	9. Suicidal Clock Chime

Every day when he was let out into the day room, Herman would sit in his chair by the window and stare outside. No one bothered him here and he had a decent enough view of the parking lot. Most people would have preferred to look at the grounds through the windows in the solarium, but he wasn't most people. He liked to have his eye on the entrance just in case he saw someone he recognized. A visitor was always a nice change of pace, but other than his mother who visited once a month, no one ever came to see him. Most of the time, he didn't mind. The less people that visited, the less people there were to find out about his past and the reason he was in here. His mother didn't even know the reason he was in here, because she wasn't around for a good six years of his past. He had left Silent Hill, looking for something new and different. Instead he found a woman. They had a daughter.

Why wouldn't he want someone to find out about his daughter? The reason was a simple one; he'd be killed. If he had stayed in his mother's sect of the Order, there wouldn't be an issue, but he hadn't stayed. He much preferred the beliefs of the Sect of Valtiel, wherein lies his problem. To the believers in the Valtiel Sect, sex was a disgusting sin and those who committed this most vile act needed to be slaughtered like the animals they are. He had made one mistake when he was younger, but it didn't change his beliefs any.

He loved his daughter and had planned on introducing her to the ways of the Order. He wanted her to be near, but before he had been able to speak to her when she was old enough, she had gone off on a different path. He still loved her, but he couldn't bring himself to agree with her decision, so he let her be. He received occasional letters from her from places all over the country, but he never replied since the location was always different. He was just pleased to know she was alive. Eight years ago however, he had received her death certificate and a final letter in the mail. After that, he had simply shut down. He was completely stunned by the news, and stopped functioning. He couldn't remember much after that, just snippets of conversations here and there, and a few meetings with different psychiatrists and psychologists. He could remember them saying his behavior didn't warrant admission to Brookhaven, but he should still be watched closely.

It was sad that he had been reduced to this. He had been a Priest of the Valtiel Sect and here he was, cowering away from his rightful punishment. He was tired of it all. Tired of sitting in front of the window, tired of being unable to properly practice his religion, tired of the nurses and orderlies and the sounds coming from upstairs. He endured the same routine for six years before he could no longer ignore his beliefs. He needed to be punished for his sins. There wasn't much he could do in a place like this, but he did what he could. He stopped eating at first, but the hunger pains weren't enough. He tried breaking a couple of bones, but even that didn't feel like enough. Eventually he stole a pair of scissors from one of the offices. That night in his tiny little room in the men's ward of the Cedar Grove Sanitarium, he got to work. The scissors weren't terribly sharp, but once he removed the screw holding the two halves together, he had a suitable blade. It took a fair amount of sawing the blade back and forth to break the skin, but he was getting the job done. Pain blossomed through every nerve ending, blood dripped from every slice in his skin. Naked and drenched in his own blood, he grinned down at the sheen on the steel. He was starting to feel giddy and light headed, but he wasn't done yet. He needed to prolong his suffering in hopes that She would see what he was doing for Her.

His white teeth shone in the moonlight as he grinned maniacally, shoving a finger into a particularly deep slash on his chest. He hissed in pain as he twisted his finger. Blood flowed heavily when he removed his hand and his vision was fading. Time to finish the job. He pressed the edge of the scissor blade to his wrist and pulled it across, putting as much weight into it as he could. The skin split obediently and a torrent of blood rained onto the floor. He dropped the blade and slumped forward, falling off his bed.

By the time the next orderly did his rounds it was too late. Herman was dead.

He expected his death to be quiet and dark because he had failed Her, but it didn't work out that way. It was excruciating and hot, his skin boiling and his eyeballs melting. He was tortured and he tortured others. It was the discipline and punishment he deserved. He was reveling in the pain until all of a sudden it stopped and he found himself staring into the cruel eyes of his mother, a Priestess of the Holy Mother Sect. She had used the Resurrection Circle to pull him from the pits all because she needed his help to summon God. The Apocalypse was fast approaching and they could not ask for a more opportune time to bring Her to Earth.

That had been two months ago.

Herman watched a Patient stumble past the window, its body forever confined in a straitjacket made of skin. Even though its face had no features, it still looked sad and pained.

Two years had passed since he last sat in this chair, and even though the cycle had started again, it still felt the same. The only difference was the lack of human presence, as all the humans had either turned into creatures, were sacrificed, or are loyal to the Order. It was lonely, but hopefully they could successfully bring about Paradise and then he would be able to see Jae again.


	10. Chapter Seven

"Looks like you're stuck out here, Cas," Dean said, turning to look at the angel. Instead he was looking at his brother and Castiel was nowhere in sight. "I hate it when he does that," he mumbled to himself, turning back to the door and pushing it open. The lights weren't functioning in the lobby and since both of his hands were full and his flashlight was in his duffel, he let Sam man the light. The circular room was dilapidated, wallpaper and paint peeling from the walls, overturned furniture and garbage strewn across the floor. Doors branched off in three directions.

Dean spun on his heel to face Sam once they made the circuit. "Door one, two or three?" he asked. There were a few other doors as well, but only three of them looked like they went anywhere that might take them to Herman.

"How 'bout the one straight across from the lobby?" suggested Sam, waving the flashlight in that direction.

Dean nodded and led the way around the circular structure in the middle of the room. The door across the room was standard, like the other two. Unfortunately it was solid wood, so they couldn't even peek through a window. No point in hesitating. Gripping his pipe in one hand and his gun in the other, he pushed down on the latch and swung the door open. The reveal was a bit more anticlimactic than he had come to expect and he was almost disappointed by the shelves full of boxes. Each box had a name scrawled on it in black marker along with a number.

"This must be where they store patient belongings," Sam said, trailing the light over the rows of dusty boxes.

"Cas said Herman stayed here for a while, yeah? Maybe some of his stuff is still here," said Dean, glancing over his shoulder at Sam.

"Look out!"

Dean turned back around just in time to see a monster lunge toward him. He stepped back and swung his pipe as hard as he could in the narrow space. He hit the thing, but it leapt at him, wrapping its legs around Dean's hips, its chest oozing noxious gases. Dean struggled with it, but its legs had an iron grip around him. He was coughing and choking on the cloud, but Sam managed to pull the thing off and swing his own pipe, crushing the thing's skull. The brothers exchanged a glance before turning around and giving the rest of the room a once-over. Once they were sure there were no more monsters breathing down their necks, they split up to look for Herman's box of belongings. Dean slid his pistol into his waistband and retrieved his flashlight from his duffel. He took the right side of the room and Sam took the left. It was mostly quiet as they made their way around the room, save for the occasional scratching or shuffling noise.

"Found it!" Sam called after a few minutes and Dean was more than happy to abandon his search of the dusty boxes. He weaved his way through the rows of shelves to where Sam had plucked a box off the very top and put it on a nearby table. He was careful not to disturb the thick layer of dust and grime as he removed the lid and set it aside. The contents were pretty typical; shoes, the clothes he came in with, a wallet and an assortment of coins. At the bottom of the box was a thick manila folder.

Dean set his pipe on the table and picked up the folder. He had to set his flashlight down as well so he could remove the contents. Sam shone his light on the papers as Dean shuffled through them. Nothing looked important, just a stack of letters and postcards, all written in the same loopy, scrawling handwriting. None of them were signed.

"Well, that was a bust," muttered Dean as he returned everything to the box and replaced the lid. He shrugged, picking his flashlight and pipe back up. "I guess we should continue with our tour." Dean headed back out into the lobby and looked to the left and right. He chose the left. Three doors were on this side of the room, all in the small outcropping off the main circular room. They tried all three doors, and of the three, two doors were locked and one had a destroyed handle. They crossed the circular room to the opposite side, their steps echoing through the empty space.

"That door wasn't open before, was it?" Sam asked from behind Dean, shining his flashlight into the door.

Dean didn't answer, just frowned and cautiously stepped inside. Before him was a short hallway with a corner and a door. This section was clear, but that didn't mean there wasn't something lurking around that corner. He felt naked without his gun as he walked down the hall, but he needed to save his ammo in case he ran into Pyramid Head again. Staying close to the wall, Dean gripped his pipe, ready to swing at anything he saw around the corner. Nothing was waiting to pounce on them as they headed toward the door, but there was another turn in the hall and one of the armless monsters was staggering toward them. Dean tried the door quickly, but it was locked, so he turned to the monster in the next section of the hall. It reared back, getting ready to spit its noxious gases and Sam as Dean both swung their pipes, careful of one another. One hit ripped a hole in the flesh of the monster's face and the other made a wet cracking sound as it broke some of the bones in its torso. A third hit caught the armless creature's neck, snapping more bones. It was still twitching as it fell to the ground, black liquid pooling underneath its body.

"God, I wish we had more ammo," grumbled Dean, stepping over the body.

Sam nodded his agreement, nose wrinkling in disgust at the substance dripping from the end of his pipe and splattered across part of his shirt.

"Check those two doors, I'll get this one," said Dean, bringing Sam's attention back to what they were doing.

Sam went to two side by side doors which had been labeled at one point, but all the lettering had worn away. He turned the knob, pulling the first door open. Boxes, brooms, mops and miscellaneous items. Storage. A quick check behind the second door revealed more of the same. "All I've got is storage. What did you find?" he asked, looking up at his brother at the end of the hall.

"A locked door," he grumped, walking back to Sam. "And if this one is locked, I'm gonna be pissed."

Sam smirked as they approached the door across the hall from the storage rooms. He reached out and turned the knob. It was unlocked, but on the other side there were two armless monsters wandering the hall between them, a door and an offshoot on either side of the hall. The boys split up, Sam going after the closest one, Dean taking on the one at the end of the hall. Slick, wet thumps filled the air, along with the occasional crunch of a bone giving way. Once the monsters were dead, the brothers turned to face each other.

"Where would Herman be hiding? Left, right or center?" Dean asked, spinning in a slow circle to look at each door. Two of them had been labeled at one time, but like the storage rooms, the lettering had been worn away.

Sam went down one of the offshoots and peered at the faded lettering. He could vaguely make out what he thought was a W and perhaps an R. He crossed to the other side and read out an S and a K on one line and an R on the bottom line. "I think this is a sick ward, and honestly, from what I've seen of this town, even if Herman _is_ in there, I'd rather wait him out then go inside."

Dean nodded. He had to agree with his brother on that. This town was one big fatal disease waiting to happen. "Check the door anyway, just in case."

Sam grimaced and you could see by the expression he wore that he wished he had a gallon of _Purell_ with him. The knob turned and his expression got even sourer as he pushed the door open. More doors lined each side of the hall and a foul, stale odor lingered in the air. The boys wrinkled their noses as they started checking doors. Just like everywhere else they had been in the sanitarium so far, the walls were covered in peeling yellow-green paint and the floors were really ugly cracked and broken white and green tile. The colors were typical institutional colors, but the state of disrepair and lack of lighting provided most of the creepy quality of the place. Two of the doors in the hall were wood, but the rest were heavy steel. Of the eleven doors in the hall, only two opened for them. One was a patient room that held a bed, sink, toilet and an IV stand with an empty bag hanging from the hook. The other appeared to be a nurses' office as it held various medical equipment, lockers, a couple of desks, a couch and a fridge. They did a quick toss of the office and besides a few rolls of gauze and some disinfectant which they shoved into their bags, they found absolutely nothing.

Finished with the Sick Ward, they went across the hall and found that that door opened as well. Just like the Sick Ward, doors lined both sides of the hall here as well. Each of the doors had mesh-lined windows in them so the staff could easily look in on residents. Dean took a look in the closest one and saw one of the armless monsters twitching away in the center of the room.

"Okay, not going in there," he mumbled, moving onto the next one as Sam checked the opposite side of the hall. One door sat ajar, so Dean nudged it open with the toe of his boot. It was a standard room with a bed, sink, toilet and dresser. With caution, he entered the room. The first thing he noticed was the piece of paper on the bed. His curiosity got the better of him, so he picked it up and scanned the text neatly printed on the sheet.

—_despite his usually calm, withdrawn nature, Patient_

_06924311, Herman—is often prone to violent outbursts._

_After each episode and almost a week in seclusion, he never_

_recalls his actions.—death of daughter was cause_

_for admittance.—_

—_recommend therapies such as—_

Dean frowned at the report. Great, the guy they were looking for was prone to violence. He was kind of curious what sort of therapies they thought would calm him down, but it was probably nothing short of a sadistic nightmare.

"Find something?" Sam asked, standing in the doorway of the tiny, ugly room.

"Just this report," he answered, handing it to Sam. He waited while Sam read, watching his expression.

"Shouldn't he have been somewhere a little more secure if he was this bad?" Sam asked looking up from the paper.

Dean shrugged. "Probably, not that it matters. Good to know that he's violent, though. At least we have something to expect."

Nodding, Sam stepped out of the way as Dean moved back into the hall. "True enough. I didn't find anything other than more peeling paint and ugly tile, though. I never got to the door at the very end of the hall."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Princess?" teased Dean as he opened the aforementioned door. The hall was empty and once again there were more doors waiting to be checked. Once again Dean took one side of the hall and Sam took the other. The first room on Dean's side was empty, the second was locked with a monster inside, as was the third. The fourth was open and filled with the first signs of human inhabitants Dean had seen; pictures, clothes and books. Nothing interesting. That just left the fifth and final door on his side. It was open as well and another sheet of paper was on the bare mattress. He went inside and grabbed the paper.

—_Herman completely withdrew from—_

—_daughter Jae Fairwain's death—_

_unknown to other family members and Sharalynn_

_Stevenson, mother of Herman—_

—_._

Dean's fingers tightened around the paper, crumpling it in his hand. Was it true? Was Jae Herman's daughter? He remembered her saying she wasn't close with her father, but he couldn't remember her mentioning his name. Or was this a different woman all together? The coincidence was too much. There was no way this could be true, though. It didn't make sense to him. There was no way Herman could know Dean was involved in Jae's death.

Dean was still staring down at the report when the door slammed shut behind him.

"Hey!" Two strides took him to the door and he stopped dead. Painted in blood red paint—or just blood—was another one of those circles. The Halo of the Sun.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, rattling the door knob. It was locked.

Dean tossed his duffel on the bed and tore open the zipper, searching for his lock picks. By the time he remembered he had lost them along the way, the sirens started to wail. Outside the room, Sam looked pained as the walls started to change. His hazel eyes grew wide as he took a step back and looked up. And if Dean had blinked, he would have missed what came next; two arms came down from above the door, grabbed Sam by the shoulders and yanked him upward, his legs flailing. Sam disappeared and the sirens echoed inside his head.

"Sam!" yelled Dean, his vision blurring as he watched everything rot and decay. His surroundings shifted to the Otherworld again and Dean was locked up, unable to help Sam. The last thing he saw before he passed out was a grinning face in the small, mesh-lined window.

* * *

><p>Castiel stared up at the walls of the hospital as they degraded before his eyes. Sirens originating from unknown sources echoed in the air. He was useless here as well, it seemed. Despite the fading paint and rotting wood, rust and growing flesh, the Enochian symbols were still visible and in effect. He had no idea how these humans had learned the symbols, but they were up on every building the Order conducted their practices in. It was bad enough that his powers were being steadily drained by the symbol of the Order's faith, but he couldn't even help the Winchesters with the small amount of power he had left. He couldn't repair the Seals. He couldn't stop Sharalynn or Herman. He was useless here. All he could do was watch.<p>

* * *

><p>Sam woke up abruptly, his throat and mouth thick with a heavy metallic taste. The last thing he remembered was the sirens and Dean locked in that room.<p>

"Dean?" he called out, his voice loud in his ears. There was no reply. He couldn't even look around the room because it was pitch black. The floor beneath him was cushioned and he put his hand out to the side, feeling rough cloth under his fingertips. He pushed himself to his feet, arms out. Wherever he was, it wasn't very big. He could touch two of the walls just with his arms spread. He felt around in the dark, finding a cold steel door with no handle to speak of. He frowned in the darkness. Turning away from the useless door, Sam continued to feel out the space he was trapped in. One wall was about eight feet long and bare. The back wall was six feet across and bare as well. The second side wall had a cot pressed against it, the metal frame rough and rusted. Where the mattress should have been it was nothing but sharp metal springs. He felt around on the floor once he had a vague idea of the layout. Underneath the metal cot frame was something small and cylindrical. Sam was wary, but he grabbed it up anyway and turned it over in his hands. It was cool against his skin and had a bit of weight to it. There was a small button on one end, which he pushed and promptly blinded himself. A flashlight.

Blinking away spots, he turned the light away from himself and took a look at the room. He nearly gagged when he saw what he had been touching with his bare hands. The fabric and cushioned walls that had once been off-white in color were now stained with years' worth of blood and splatter, as was the floor. The rusted metal cot looked lethal if you even glanced at it the wrong way. Sam wiped his hands uselessly on his pant legs and wrinkled his nose in a grimace. He turned back toward the door which was covered in rust as well as a few throbbing vein-like additions to the steel. A small rectangle was inset at eye-level in the door, but there was no way for him to open it or the door from the inside.

"Dean!" he tried calling again, banging on the door for good measure. He listened very carefully, but there were no sounds on the other side of the door. Sam's arms fell to his sides and he turned off his light to save the battery. He was stuck in a potentially disease ridden six by eight cell with nothing but a rusted out cot frame and a flashlight. Everything else was gone; his guns, his ammo, even the steel pipe. Whoever locked him in here had taken his duffel.

Banging on the door again was the best hope he had of being heard and getting out. He just hoped Dean was having better luck.

* * *

><p>Dean was pretty certain his luck couldn't get much crappier. The latch on the door was destroyed and he had nothing to help him get out. He had passed out again and when he woke up everything but the clothes on his back and a flashlight was gone, including the Angelic Blade. He had woken up on a cot that was a on a creaky frame and smelled like death. He found out why that was once he got up and turned the flashlight on it. The old, threadbare mattress had been completely saturated in blood at one point, the fabric turned brown from the dry stains. The floor looked like someone had dumped a bucket of red paint on it. The walls had gone fleshy and greasy, and a couple of places seemed to thrum with a heartbeat. He wanted to say he had seen and smelled worse, but honestly, he hadn't.<p>

He breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell, but he could taste the metallic odor on the stale, dead air. The acrid stench of various other things floated on the air as well and even his own smell was wafting from the stains in the pits of his tee-shirt. He'd be surprised if he could smell anything at all after they got out of here.

Dean pounded on the door, yelling and putting pressure on the broken latch. He rattled the door and stood back, giving it a hard kick simply out of frustration. The latch cracked off and clattered to the floor.

"Sonuvabitch!" he cursed, punching the fleshy wall, feeling it give under his fist. Something split and squirted him in the face with a rancid-smelling viscous yellow substance. As it dripped down the wall and off his nose and chin, Dean growled in his throat. He lifted his arm and wiped his face clean with the sleeve of his jacket.

"A good rule to live by in Silent Hill is don't hit anything if you don't want it to bite you back," said a plain male voice as the little viewing window slid open.

"Open the door," Dean snarled, not particularly caring who he was talking to.

The man laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. The eyes were all Dean could see and they looked tired. "Now why would I do that, Dean?"

Dean walked right up to the door so that he was looking directly into the tired eyes. They were dark brown and bloodshot, a hint of intensity and insanity lurking in their depths. Dean knew that look well. "Who the hell are you?" he questioned.

"Really, Dean. I'd be a touch more polite if I were in your shoes. You're talking to a man who has every reason to kill you here and now." The genial tone quickly grew dark and dangerous.

"Herman," Dean stated with a growl, realization dawning on him.

"At your service."

"How do you know my name?" Dean narrowed his eyes, his own tone matching the danger level in Herman's voice.

Herman stepped away from the door and the little pool of light that illuminated him. When he spoke again his voice came from somewhere off to the left. "Your name has been mentioned to me a few times to tell you the truth. Jae mentioned you in one of her letters, but I never thought much of that. It was while I was in Hell that I actually learned about you and your brother. That was in between victims, of course. I was told all about Sam and your stint in Hell and the Apocalypse. Sounded like you really enjoyed yourself in the pits, Dean. I would admire you for that if you hadn't killed my daughter."

"I didn't kill her!" shouted Dean, pounding his fist on the door.

"She told me otherwise, Dean-o."

Dean was silent. He hadn't killed her. She died on the job. It was inevitable in their line of work. But why hadn't he prevented it?

"That's right. She's had years to develop a grudge, Dean. Actually, it was her idea that you were one of our sacrifices. Usually it's kind of random who ends up in town, but you guys were handpicked. We figured we'd forgo all the Michael and Lucifer crap and go straight for Paradise. In fact, your brother should be preparing for that right now." Herman stepped back into the light and grinned.

"What have you done with Sam?"

"You'll see. Just sit tight and enjoy my former room while I go see how everything is progressing. Oh, and I figured you might want some company as well." With that said, Herman disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the cell that smelled like death. Off in the distance he could hear metal scraping on metal and his blood ran cold.


	11. Overdose Delusions

"Let me out," Sam begged, his voice weak even to his own ears. It was all a fever dream. It had to be. Dean and Bobby had locked him up to detox him, to filter the demon blood from his system. He was seeing and hearing things. The lack of blood was affecting his brain. That had to be it. There was no other reason for him to be drenched in sweat. There was no other reason for his internal clock to be so out of order. There was no other reason for everything around him to be so utterly _wrong_. But yet he felt too lucid for this to be another detox. His vision wasn't swimming. He wasn't in pain. He wasn't craving the blood. Of course he still wanted it—he always did—but he didn't _need_ it.

He wasn't sure what to think. He was overheating, sweat matting down the hair at his temples and making his shirt stick to his skin. He had removed his jacket, tossing it onto the cot frame, but it hadn't cooled him down any. And he felt like he had been in here for hours, even though it probably hadn't been that long. He knew he had spent a while trying to get the door open, but that couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes. He was good and stuck in here and it was up to Dean to get him out. Unfortunately that meant he was alone in here with his thoughts. That was dangerous at the best of times, but here in the dark with the knowledge of what could be lurking around the next corner, his thoughts were growing darker and more paranoid with every passing minute.

_"The corrupt nature of your soul has attracted something even more horrifying. The creatures will come in greater numbers to find you."_ Castiel had told him. This is what his mind had been dwelling on before the thoughts of the detox. Now his mind was creating any number of horrifying creatures that could be coming to get him. What had Cas meant? What was coming for him? Surely nothing could be quite as terrifying as that pyramid headed thing that was after Dean.

_You smell yummy_, a low voice growled from beyond his door. Sam wasn't even sure the growling was real words, yet he had understood. He shivered despite the heat.

"Who's there?" Sam asked, taking an involuntary step backwards.

_They call me Vora. I used to have a real name, but I lost it a long time ago._ Vora's absence of voice was distinctly male. It was raspy, speaking words that weren't actually voiced out loud, the sounds and syllables more in Sam's head than on the air. _I could smell you_.

Sam shivered again. The sound of Vora's growling was disturbing, to say the least.

_Are you still there, my yummy smelling boy?_ There was a slurping sound on the other side of the door.

He didn't answer in hopes that the creep would just go away. There was silence on the other side of the door and Sam thought the thing had left. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and took a step forward. He was going to listen at the door, but before he took another step it flew open, a small amount of light illuminating a figure standing in the doorway.

The person tipped their head to the side. A smile would have been curling their lips if they were visible. _Ooh, nice and fresh_, said the strange voice, his chest expanding with a deep breath. _The only thing I like better than demon blood is sweet human flesh that's been saturated with it, Sammy boy._ Vora purred his name. A long tongue slid out of a slit in the mask he wore and waggled back and forth. Sam recoiled. Castiel was right; the monsters coming for him were horrifying. While Vora was human—or mostly human—he was mutated or deformed. He wore some sort of leathery, skin-like mask over his face with a big slit in it where his mouth should be, but the space behind the slit was black and void-like. He was missing an arm near the shoulder, the stump ragged and infected, spidery veins crawling across his bare chest from the point of amputation.

Vora stepped forward, backing Sam into a corner and flicking his tongue out, lapping at the sweat on Sam's neck. _I can taste it on your skin_, said the growling voice.

"What?" Sam breathed out, shoving his way past Vora, making him chuckle. He had no way of fighting back other than his fists, so for the moment he tried to keep out of arm's reach by backing out of the tiny cell.

_The demon blood in your system_, Vora replied in his non-voice. He almost seemed to be smiling as he followed Sam out into another room. There was one door on the opposite wall and six more doors to cells next to Sam's.

"I haven't used it in months," Sam said, his voice much more calm than he felt. He scanned the room for a weapon, his eyes straining in the dim light.

_It's still in your body, Sammy. I can smell it. And I want to taste it._ Vora was done playing games now. He lunged at Sam, his remaining hand closing tightly around Sam's throat. The guy was stronger than he seemed. Even though Vora was taller than Sam's six foot four inches, he was thinner but with lean, sinewy muscles.

Sam wrapped his own hand around Vora's throat and his other hand around Vora's wrist. He pushed against the monster, but barely managed to shove him a couple of inches. The hand tightened around his throat, claws digging into Sam's skin. Blood started to dribble down his neck and soak into the collar of his tee-shirt. Each breath was becoming a struggle and his grip was weakening. A smell wafted up between them and at first all Sam could identify was the tangy metallic scent of blood, but with each inhale something else reached him and he started to feel ravenous. That feeling of primal need and the promise of power. Sam licked his lips.

Vora was busy tasting the blood that leaked from the cuts in Sam's neck and Sam had the urge to do the same. He gave Vora a hard shove, putting all of his strength behind it, knocking him into the wall. Putting his hand up to his throat, he ran his fingers over the four small slits in the right side of his neck, smearing the blood over his skin before bringing his fingers to his lips. He licked off the smears of blood and smiled to himself. He did taste the demon blood. It was still there in his system and it had been with him all along. He could have been more useful to Dean had he known. But he knew now and he could be useful to his brother.

Licking more blood from his fingers, he looked up at Vora and could suddenly smell the blood in his veins. The demon blood coursing through Vora's body was concentrated.

_I know that look. You're deprived of blood. Well, I can't help you with that because I want it all for myself_, Vora growled, slamming into Sam's chest and knocking him back. They grasped at each other, fingernails, claws and teeth gnashing. Teeth, sharp as spikes tore into Sam's throat when Vora pushed him up against the wall, pinning him. Blood dripped down Vora's chin and throat, large drops landing on his bare chest.

Sam licked his lips, breathing hard. He wiped his hand across his throat again, this time feeling the flap of torn skin but not the pain. He barred his blood-stained teeth at Vora and launched at him, grabbing his throat with both hands. The smell, the need, the power from the blood was making him animalistic. He felt his humanity slipping with each breath, but that nagging feeling in the back of his mind was telling him the demon blood was the only hope he had of saving Dean.

Flexing his arms, Sam squeezed Vora's throat, feeling it crumple under his hands. It didn't seem to bother Vora, though. The monster hissed a putrid breath into Sam's face and brought his hand up to Sam's forehead. Heat spread instantly throughout Sam's body, getting hotter and hotter until he felt like his bones would liquefy and his eyeballs would sluice from his head. This was similar to his powers, but since Sam didn't have a demon possessing him, the power would kill him soon if he didn't get away.

Sam let out a scream, bringing his leg up and landing a kick directly on Vora's knee, sending him to the ground. He kicked Vora again in the side of the head, something sliding under his boot. Vora laughed, pushing himself to his feet, his shattered knee jutting backward in a disgusting parody of a bird's leg.

"Why don't you stay down?" Sam hissed, kicking Vora again in his injured knee, making him fall down again. Blood, rich with the scent of unimaginable power filled his nostrils. Sam bit down hard on his lips and kicked Vora again and again in his chest, head and legs. Vora laughed the entire time Sam was crushing his skull. Eventually Vora lay still and the laughter faded away, leaving a blood-soaked mess on the floor. Sam swallowed hard and knelt before the body. Licking a splatter of blood from his face, he put his hand into a large open wound in the monster's side. Pulling his hand free from the warm, soft innards, Sam brought it up to his lips and sucked the blood off. He enjoyed the tinny taste in his mouth for a moment before bending at the waist and pressing his lips to the wound. As he sucked the blood from the dead monster, he knew he would be able to save Dean once Vora was bled dry. For now though, he just wanted to enjoy the familiarity of the electricity in his veins and the warm blood sliding down his throat. The Apocalypse would still be waiting when he had his fill.


	12. Chapter Eight

Dean hated to run away, but he would if he had to. This was one of those situations. Only problem was that he was stuck in a tiny blood soaked cell with nothing but a flashlight. The door handle was lying on the floor where it had landed after he kicked it and the door was the only way out. Pyramid Head was coming for him and he was a sitting duck.

He stepped up to the door and looked out into the pool of light outside. The scraping metal was getting louder. The worst part had to be the waiting. The monster moved so agonizingly slow that Dean had been listening to the giant sword scraping against the metal floor for almost ten minutes now. The sound was grating on his nerves and making him pace. He wasn't one for waiting at the best of times, but now he was waiting for a giant, sword wielding, pyramid-shaped helmet wearing maniac to come kill him. Not exactly a good combination. He walked from one fleshy wall to the other, occasionally stopping to look out his window. After a few minutes of this, he got fed up and started to yell out to the monster that was coming for him. Looking out the window wasn't doing any good since all he could see was the opposite wall.

"C'mon! Come get me, you freak!" he shouted, banging his fist on the door.

The hallway fell silent and Dean held his breath. He could hear his pulse beating loudly in his ears as he waited for something to happen. He took a few steps back, his boots clicking on the floor. The silence in the hallway was almost deafening. When something finally happened, Dean almost swallowed his tongue. A loud screeching noise filled the room when the oversized knife sliced through the door of the cell, the tip stopping an inch from Dean's chest. The knife moved back and forth, slicing a ragged hole in the door.

"Shit," breathed Dean, backing into a corner and watching as the blade was removed and a gloved hand appeared. The hand took hold of the split and curled metal and pulled. The heavy door rattled on its hinges, but held. Dean looked around for something to use as a weapon, but all he had was himself and his flashlight. Tensing his muscles, he got close to the door and landed a kick to the hand gripping the metal. The hand disappeared for a moment before grabbing onto the metal again and giving a good yank on the door. This time the rusted, corroded hinges gave and the door was torn free and tossed aside.

Dean was now face-to-helmet with Pyramid Head.

With his chest heaving and pulse racing, Dean stood his ground. He had nowhere to run and no weapon to defend himself. The monster stood in the doorway, blocking his only escape path and making no indication it was going to move any time soon. It was too still; no movement to show it was breathing, no random muscle twitch, no anything. It just stood there, watching Dean and waiting.

A low growl escaped Dean's throat. His eyes darted around the room, taking another desperate look for something—_anything_—he could use. He had two options; blindly charge the thing or distract it and get it to move out of the doorway.

Pyramid Head obviously didn't think the same way Dean did. He had power and he intended to use it. He raised his arm and took a step forward, thrusting his giant knife at Dean. The movement was so fast Dean was barely quick enough to avoid getting his head lopped off. The edge of the blade pinned his jacket and shirt to the wall, pressing painfully against his left shoulder. Pulling away, he ripped the fabric free and managed to spare a glance at the shallow slice in his skin. Pyramid Head had already freed his weapon from the wall and was aiming for Dean again. This time he opted for a sideways slash that was designed to bifurcate the victim. Dean saw the attack coming and was able to duck and roll out of the way. The monster still wasn't quite out of the way, so Dean tried to move around the small room to get Pyramid Head to come at him. Taking another step forward, Pyramid Head swung his knife again and Dean only just dodged another fatal injury. Now was his chance. There was just enough room for Dean to squeeze by if he was quick and careful. He watched for the monster to raise his arm again before making his move.

With as much speed as he could manage, Dean darted from the corner of the room and ran at Pyramid Head. The beast tried to grab him on the way by, but Dean was expecting that and avoided the hand by a hair's breadth. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he was passing the monster and Dean got an unfortunately close-up look and smell. Once he was by, time returned to normal and in a heartbeat, he was out in the hall and running. He burst through one door and into the next section of hallway. He kept running until he was in a previously unexplored area. He felt far from safe, but he didn't expect Pyramid Head could sneak up on him here.

Looking around, he started trying doors. The first one on the right was locked, which wasn't a huge surprise. The first one on the left was open though, so he ducked inside and leaned on the spongy, yet wooden door.

After a few deep breaths that made him loathe his sense of smell, Dean went to investigate his small hideout. He found himself in a bathroom that was way worse than the worst truck stop bathroom he had ever seen. While the plumbing seemed to be intact, everything was stained with unidentifiable flora and fauna growing up out of the toilets and sinks. Puddles of sludge spattered the floor and a carcass was propped up in one corner. The mirror over the sink was largely in one piece with a few cracks and smudges here and there. There was nothing waiting to chew his face off, so he went and stood before the mirror. He stared at his reflection briefly before turning away, deciding that the shadows from the flashlight was the reason he looked like he hadn't slept in a month and then was hit by a truck.

Dean wiped his hands off on his pants and carefully pulled off his jacket. The article was beyond repair. His button-up and tee shirt were in the same sad shape thanks to Pyramid Head. Through the holes in his clothing, he could see that the cut on his shoulder wasn't too bad and the blood had even started to coagulate. That was a relief, but his shirt wasn't going to last much longer. The slice through the shoulder had already started to turn into a nice long tear.

Spitting on the floor and trying to get the foul taste out of his mouth, Dean turned his mind to more important things. Sammy was missing. It looked like he had been taken by that Valtiel angel and Dean was in no shape to mount a rescue mission. He had to find Sammy before he went after Herman, though. Then again, if he found Herman first, he certainly wouldn't hesitate to beat the man to death.

Dean scratched the back of his neck and scowled. He had no plan. No plan, no tools. Best he could do at the moment was the door-to-door routine and call for his brother. But nothing was going to get done at all with him cowering in here, so he pulled a piece of rusted pipe from the wall, the corroded joints oozing a reddish liquid when it cracked off, and headed back into the hall.

As soon as the door closed behind him, two of the armless creatures ambushed him. Dean was not in the mood to play games and the monsters were the unfortunate outlets for his anger. He was breathing heavily by the time they were dead, his shirt, face and jeans splattered with blood.

Clenching his jaw, he headed up the hallway, checking doors as he went. The first door was locked, the second opening into a large room with a handful of bed frames and stained mattresses. No Sam, so he moved on.

The hall ended in another door which sat ajar. Dean raised his weapon and nudged the door open with his foot. Beyond the door was a small room with copious amounts of blood on the floor and seven doors on the wall across from where he entered. Only one of the seven doors—all tiny cells, Dean discovered—was locked. Luckily the lock wasn't functioning correctly and it only took a little bit of force on his part to get it open. When he opened the door, he was both relieved and panicked to see the familiar body slumped on the floor.

"Sam!" he called, practically falling into the tiny room. He knelt next to Sam and rolled him onto his back. Blood covered Sam's face and neck, soaked into his shirt and caked on his hands. Small cuts lined both sides of his throat with a slightly larger cut under his left ear, the edges ragged. "God damnit, Sam, you better not be dead!" Dean grabbed Sam's jacket and shook him. He smacked Sam's cheek, smearing a glob of blood.

"Why does my mouth taste like tin?" Sam asked, his voice scratchy. His eyes fluttered open and he frowned at the dim room.

Dean angled the flashlight over Sam's face. "I assume that has something to do with your blood facial," he replied, his voice flat and unamused.

Sam sat up and frowned at Dean. "What?"

"There's blood all over your face, Sam."

Sam swiped his hand over his face and looked at it. Blood was smeared across the back of his hand now as well as his fingernails and palm. "Dean, I haven't—" he started to say, turning to look at Dean with wide eyes. He winced when he turned his head. "What the hell?" He brought his hand back up and felt his throat. "What happened?" he asked Dean.

"You tell me," he replied, getting to his feet. He extended his hand to Sam, pulling him to his feet.

Frowning, Sam shook his head. "I don't remember…I was locked in here, and then…" Sam's eyes went wide. "Vora."

"Huh?"

"Vora. It was a monster. He came to drink my blood."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam. "A vamp?"

"No, he was nothing like a vampire. He was mostly human as far as I could tell…" Sam frowned at the floor, trying to remember.

"Well, whatever it was, it certainly made a mess of your neck," said Dean, moving out of the claustrophobic little cell.

Sam's hand lingered on his neck. He could feel tacky blood and soft new scabs on one side and a gummy line of not-quite dried blood, outlining a semi-circular wound on the other side. "What the hell happened?" he asked again.

"Really couldn't tell ya. I have my own issues," answered Dean, leading Sam back down the hall toward the bathroom so he could see for himself just how incriminating the evidence was.

When they got inside, Dean lodged his pipe under the door latch just in case. He motioned Sam to the mirror. "Now tell me you weren't drinking demon blood."

"I know how this looks, Dean, but—wait a minute…" Sam turned his head, looking at the cuts in his skin.

"What?"

"Dean, these wounds look self-inflicted," he muttered, examining his fingernails. "I did this to myself. I must have hallucinated Vora…"

Dean wasn't convinced. "Then how do you explain that? It looks like a bite mark."

Sam turned his head and looked at the other injury. It did look like a bite mark, but yet it didn't have any definite teeth impressions. He sighed to himself. He didn't _feel_ like he had ingested any demon blood, but arguing with Dean was like arguing with a wall.

"I don't know how to explain it, Dean. Not so that you'd actually believe me," Sam replied, wiping the sleeve of his shirt across his face to clean off the blood.

"We don't have time to talk about this right now," said Dean as he pulled another piece of pipe free and tossed it to Sam.

"Okay then, if you don't want to talk about that, then how about telling me what happened to our stuff?"

Dean shrugged. "Dunno. My stuff—including the friggen angel killing blade—was gone when I woke up in Herman's old room. He seemed to think I wasn't gonna make it out alive."

"You talked to him?"

Wrenching his pipe free, Dean nodded. "We swapped war stories. Apparently he did some time in the pits. And he told me about the plan to jump start the apocalypse."

Sam puffed out a breath. "Great."

"Which is why we need to find him," said Dean, cautiously opening the door and stepping back into the hall.

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked.

"Don't have one. He could be hiding anywhere in here. I don't think he would have left the building yet because he can easily be tracked on the streets. Namely by Cas."

Nodding, Sam opened the door leading to the section where the single rooms and sick ward were located. Dean sprinted through to the next door. Sam quirked a brow at his brother's back, but kept his mouth shut. He vaguely wondered about Dean's missing jacket and the cut on his shoulder, but didn't ask. He shook his head and followed Dean past the storage rooms and up the hallway.

"That door was locked before, wasn't it?" Sam asked as they approached another door.

"It sure was," answered Dean, nodding at the door. It was only open a few inches, so Dean gave it a kick and shone his light inside. "Oh goody. Stairs." The staircase leading down was blocked by debris, so that only left them with up. At least this staircase was mostly intact.

Taking the stairs two at a time up to the landing, the boys ignored the ominous creaks and groans from the staircase. Safely on the landing, they headed through the door to the second floor, which was already open for them.

"Either we're being led, or Herman is being sloppy," said Dean as he closed the door behind them just in case the monsters got smart and learned how to use stairs.

"I'm going to go with a little of both," replied Sam, nodding to their left. Rubble blocked the hall in that direction, but on top of the rubble pile was their duffel bags. They were looking a bit more deflated then the last time they had seen them.

Dean pulled the zipper back on one and looked inside. A slow smile pulled back the corners of his lips and he tossed his pipe to Sam. Digging into the bag, he pulled out a large hunting knife. "Looks like Herman wasn't being too careful."

"First good news we've had. So, I guess we're going this way." Sam tossed the pipe back to Dean and headed down the hall to the door. Just like on the first floor, the open area in the middle of the building was more-or-less empty. Ambient light filtered in from somewhere, casting heavy shadows on the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

"How have you not died yet?" asked a distinctly female voice. She sounded amused.

"I've picked up a few tricks over the years," Dean answered, his voice flat.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking over at his brother.

"What are you doing here, Jae?" Dean asked, stepping towards the two figures. "Did you miss me that much?"

An unamused chuckle drifted through the room. "Ever the jokester, Dean. And I see your ego hasn't gotten any smaller, either. No, I didn't come back just to stroke your ego. I'm here on my dad's invitation. He told me he needed your blood and I'm more than willing to lend a hand."

"Couldn't handle us on your own Herman?" asked Dean, glaring over at the second figure. His voice was rough with anger and other long buried emotions.

"On the contrary, Dean. I had a perfect plan to get the blood I need from both of you. Unfortunately the monsters seem a bit lazy today. You were supposed to be in chunks by now and Sam bled dry by his own hand. Since that didn't exactly go as planned, I decided to go another route. Seeing the look on your face is just a bonus." Herman put his hand on Jae's shoulder and smiled. "She's itching to gut you just like you gutted her."

Dean tensed all over. "I didn't…" he mumbled. "Why, Jae?"

"You spent four months in Hell? I had eight years, Dean. Eight _years_! You spend eight years down there and then ask me why!" the woman yelled, her voice cracking. "They brought me back and now I have a chance to reverse our roles. Do you think I'm not going to take them up on that offer?" She stepped forward into a small pool of light and Sam was worried Dean would physically crack if he tensed up any more. "Besides, I've picked up my own tricks while I was in Hell. It'd be a shame if I couldn't test them out." Jae lifted on arm and swept it out to the side. Sam went flying into the wall with a loud metallic clang.

"Sam! You've turned into a real bitch, Jae," growled Dean, glancing quickly at his brother where he sagged against the wall. He took a step toward Jae, closing the distance. He honestly had no idea how he was going to win this fight with a knife and a piece of pipe, but he'd figure something out, just like always.

"Ah, ah, ah, Dean." Jae raised her hand, taking Dean with it. She tipped her head to one side, examining the details of Dean's face. "Time has not been kind to you," she teased, bringing him closer.

"At least I ain't a demon," he growled, struggling against the hold she had on him. She was strong, but he had fought stronger.

Jae chuckled and applied pressure to Dean's chest, making it hard to breath. She smiled as he choked on each breath. Somewhere off to the side, Sam groaned and she slammed him against the wall again.

"Leave him out of this," snarled Dean in a raspy voice as he glared down at her. He caught sight of the necklace she always wore and almost laughed out loud. The little golden cross dangled pointlessly around her neck.

"Oh Dean, now really isn't the time or the place. I believe we had this conversation once before about you ogling my chest, didn't we? That behavior right there is why the big guy wants to kill you so bad," she said, mistaking the direction of his glance. "And as for Sam, unfortunately he needs to die, too."

Still struggling, he felt the iron hold giving ever so slightly as he tried to move. "Don't flatter yourself Sweetheart," he muttered as he moved one foot. A small victory for sure, but he was making progress. "Sam has nothing to do with this. He doesn't even know who you are!"

"My feelings are hurt, Dean. You never told your little brother about us? I guess doesn't really matter if he knows or not, but it will really tick off the big kahuna when I kill his meat suit." She turned her attention away from Dean briefly, a slightly worried expression washing over her features. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared. "Sammy," she called, her voice sickly sweet. "I hate to give you the bad news Sweetie, but there's nothing you can do to me. You aren't jacked up on demon blood and that piddly little stick you've got won't do any good."

She didn't get an answer. Sighing, she flicked her wrist, tossing Dean like a ragdoll into the wall. His spine jarred as he hit the ground and he swore he could feel his teeth rattle in his skull. He glanced up from under his eyebrows and saw that Jae wasn't paying him any attention. She was looking for Sam, who was doing an amazing job of hiding given his size and the lack of hiding places available. There were a couple of offshoots leading to different rooms, which was probably where Sam had disappeared to. He noticed Herman had made a hasty exit as well.

As quietly as he could, Dean got to his feet and gripped his knife tightly in one hand and his pipe in the other. There was no way he could close the distance between Jae and himself without her noticing, so he decided to go with plan B. Distract her long enough for Sam to make a move. He sighed inwardly and looked down at his knife. Oh well, all or nothing, right? He took careful aim and threw the knife.

Jae grunted when the blade hit just to the left of her spine and turned to face Dean. "Ouch," she grumbled, reaching back to pull out the knife. "That was kinda rude, don'tcha think? At least have the balls to face me like a man instead of throwing things like a little boy." She pulled the knife free and with a pained sigh, tossed it away.

"Hey, you're the one throwing the tantrum, not me, sister." Boy did he wish he had a gun right now. If this had been eight years ago, this argument would have ended with them in bed together. Too bad this wasn't eight years ago.

"Oh, I'm a long way from a tantrum, Dean," she growled, forcing him to his knees as she walked toward him. She twisted her blood-slick hand in his hair and wrenched his head back. "But I think I've played with you long enough and now it's time to die."

"Go to hell, bitch."

"Been there, done that, got the damn tee-shirt." Her eyes flashed black and she pressed her free hand to his stomach. At first it felt like a really bad stomachache, his intestines cramping and his stomach making strange gurgling sounds, but then the burning pain started to migrate. It was slow moving and agonizing, making him scream out loud. The scream turned into a hacking fit as noxious black ooze dribbled from his mouth and splattered on the rusted steel floor.

"See that, Dean? That's your internal organs slowly liquefying. This is just the first tissue layer of your stomach. There's gonna be a big 'ole puddle of sludge on the floor by the time I'm done with you, Sweetcheeks."

Dean's vision was tunneling and he could feel blood running from his nose and pooling in his ears. He had been in pain before, but he had to admit this was unique. The only thing keeping him upright was the hand in his hair and when she let go, he fell to the side, coughing up a chunk of something he didn't want to identify. But the pain in his gut had stopped, so he risked looking up through his watery eyes. His hearing was muffled, but by the look of things, Jae was not having a good time. Behind her, Sam's lips were moving quickly and Dean recognized words from the exorcism prayer. He watched as black smoke billowed from Jae's open mouth and she collapsed to the floor.

Sam rushed over to Dean, crouching down and putting a hand on his shoulder. Dean was pretty certain Sam asked him if he was okay, so he nodded. He reached up and stuck a finger in his ear, trying to clear it out. When that didn't work, he tipped his head and smacked his hand against the other ear. It helped a little, but he was still pretty deaf. Shaking his head vigorously, he got to his feet and felt the need to vomit. He swallowed back the urge and looked down at Jae's body for the second time in his life. Twice too many. A large syringe was sticking out of her back. Dean made a face and turned to Sam.

"What's this?" he shouted, cringing at the stinging in his throat. Not only could he not hear his own voice, but it hurt like a bitch to talk.

Sam raised his voice so Dean could hear him. "Sorry I took so long. Found a sink full of gross water and did a quick Holy Water prayer over it. Filled up a syringe and injected her with it to keep her immobile long enough to exorcise her."

Dean had to admit that was pretty smart. "Where'd you go?"

"There's a doctor's office just over there," replied Sam.

"Did you happen to see Herman running off?" Dean now asked, ignoring the pain in his throat. He knelt next to Jae's body and rolled her over. He pushed her hair from her face and sighed to himself. She was still just as pretty as he remembered. And he didn't blame her for fostering a grudge against him or for trying to kill him. He'd probably feel the same if he had been in her shoes. He sighed out loud this time, blinking away the burning in his eyes. He had said goodbye to her once and he wasn't in the mood to do it again. Taking a deep breath, he put her down and stood up again. She was just another demon in a familiar meat suit.

"Yo, Dean! Hello?"

Dean turned to face Sam. "Hey, I can _hear_ you!"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? Well then, what was I saying?"

"Dude, what are you? My wife?"

Sam pulled a face. "I said he took off that way. There's only one door over there, so we should probably check it out."

"Yeah, right." Dean wiped some of the blood from his ears and nose and bent down to pick up his knife. "Did you find anything else that could be useful while you were in the office?"

Sam shook his head. "Didn't really get a chance to look around."

"Right. Well, lead the way."

Sam didn't argue and didn't ask about Jae, which Dean was grateful for. He didn't want to talk about her. Gritting his teeth against the persistent interior ache he now had, he followed Sam into another big room. He had to blink a couple of times to confirm what he was seeing. There was no mistake; this was an operating theater. Even though everything was just as rusted and corroded as everything everywhere else, Dean could pick out the seating area on the upper level and an operating table and a bunch of broken lights on this level.

"Herman!" he called, his voice harsh in his ears.

"You know, I'm starting to think I should just kill you myself!"

"Then stop being a chicken shit and come get us!" Dean turned on his flashlight, directing the beam across the room. It landed on Herman, who was standing by a big metal sink with a dead armless monster at his feet.

He smiled, his head down. The shadows made him look insane. "But I've been 'getting you' all along. I'm breaking you down so my old hag of a mother can handle you."

"You ain't breakin' nothing, pal."

Herman lifted his head and tipped it to the side, his expression conveying mild interest. "Oh? I think you're wrong there, Dean. I think you're quite broken. With your murderous, untrusting and perverse behavior. You killed Jae _again_, which is whittling away at you. You don't even trust your own brother, do you Dean? And I think you _enjoy_ beating these poor Patients to death. Now you tell me, Dean. Does that sound like a healthy man to you?"

A muscle in Dean's jaw twitched as he held Herman's gaze.

"What? No witty comeback? You're hardly living up to your reputation." Herman shook his head and turned his attention to Sam. "And what about you? The big, slobbering mutt who wouldn't dare defy his master. So worried about having Dean's approval. So worried your weak older brother will die without your help. Sad, really. My mother has no idea what I know about you boys. She has no idea just how perfect you really are for the ritual. The meat suits of Michael and Lucifer."

"Shut up, asshat. You sound like a broken record. We get it, okay? You're trying to summon your god or whatever, but you ain't getting any of our blood to do it," growled Dean, holding his knife up where Herman could see it.

"Asshat? Really, Dean?" Herman shook his head, his lips quirked in amusement. "Believe what you want, boys, but you're both going to die in the end. Be it by my hand, my mother's, or my God's."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If I had a nickel for every boastful psychopath who wanted to kill me…"

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Dean. Oh, and Sam? There's still someone else in town who wants to play with you. Good luck stopping him with two bits of rusted pipe." As he finished his sentence, he looked up at the ceiling and smiled.

Sam and Dean looked up as well. Valtiel was perched on the wall near the ceiling, head twitching violently. Like an insect, he scurried across the wall and ceiling to a large rusted valve on the opposite side of the room. He grabbed it with both hands and began to turn it. The wail of sirens began to rise, echoing through the room.

"Looks like we have to part ways for now, but I'll see you again soon."

The sirens screamed inside Sam and Dean's heads, making them clasp their hands over their ears. Herman's grinning face faded before their eyes and soon neither of them could stay upright. The world faded to black around them as they were both pulled into unconsciousness.


	13. Chapter Nine

Sam sat up with a start. He was bleary eyed and had a splitting headache. He blinked a few times to clear his vision before looking around. They were still in the operating theater, only now it looked more abandoned and less horror movie. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned to Dean, who was still out of it.

"Dean? Hey, wake up!" Sam extended his leg and planted his boot in the middle of Dean's back. He nudged him a few times until he let out a groan.

"Stop kicking me, Sasquatch," complained Dean, sitting up and rubbing his face. "What the hell was that?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know. It was different than usual. The sirens never knocked us out like that before and the glyph wasn't there this time, either. It was like Valtiel had control over the Otherworld or something. Cas said people can manipulate it to a point, but it seems like he can make the world transform at will." Sam was mostly thinking out loud, so he wasn't surprised to find that Dean hadn't really been listening. Pushing himself to his feet, Sam sighed. At least the air only smelled like dust now instead of death.

Dean was on his feet as well, pulling open drawers and glass cabinets looking for something they could use as weapons. The knife had gone missing while they were unconscious, so Sam joined him even though he doubted they would find anything bigger than a scalpel in here. They searched for a good ten minutes before Dean gave up.

"I'm not going back out there without our stuff," said Dean, barging past Sam and going back out into the big circular room.

"I know how you feel Dean, but it could take hours to search this place top to bottom. I don't think we have that long to waste. Herman will probably be back long before then."

Dean stopped and turned on Sam. "So, what? You'll use your Jedi mind tricks on them instead?"

"What the hell, Dean? I told you I haven't been drinking the blood, and I haven't! If I had, it wouldn't have taken me so long to save your ass." Sam glared down at Dean, daring him to say something to the contrary.

"Then help me find the damn guns."

Sam rolled his eyes but started checking doors anyway. It didn't take them long to find out that every door expect the one leading back to the staircase was locked up tight. Dean let out a curse with each locked door, each more colorful then the last. Sam was almost certain he was up to different languages by the time they got all the way around. The duffels were still on the rubble pile, so they grabbed those before heading back downstairs. Unfortunately there wasn't a knife hiding in the bags this time.

As they headed back toward the entrance of the building, they continued to check doors, but the only ones that were unlocked were the ones that were leading out.

Castiel was waiting for them when they left Cedar Grove Sanitarium

"Did you find Herman?" he asked.

"Didn't have to. He found us," Sam answered.

Castiel looked at them expectantly.

"No, we didn't kill him. He ran off. Killed a bunch of other fun stuff though. You sure missed a helluva party," Dean said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He coughed hard and spat out a mouthful of blood.

"Where are your weapons?" Castiel now asked.

"If we knew that, we'd have found them," Dean grumbled. "Now, would you mind patching me up, maybe? I was almost turned into a Dean slushee."

"I can try, but the longer I remain in this town, the weaker I am getting." Castiel put his hand on Dean's forehead.

"Well?" Dean asked after a long moment.

Castiel shook his head. "I did what I could, but as I said, just being here is draining my power."

Scowling, Dean nodded and brought his hand up to his shoulder. It felt like the slice was mostly gone, but his innards still burned. Good enough for now, he supposed.

"Okay, now what?" asked Sam, breaking the silence. "We're virtually back to square one, this time with no gear."

"There's gotta be a gun store around here somewhere. It would be one thing if we were just out of ammo since we already came across a place to get that, but we need a compete outfitting," replied Dean, starting back down the long driveway to the road.

"Yeah, but then what? We have no idea where Herman's gone and we haven't even tried to look for that little girl's parents. Plus there's still that drawing we found in the prison and the creepy poem," Sam reminded Dean, glancing over at Castiel who was silently walking beside him.

"We don't have the drawing anymore. It was in my jacket, which I got rid of," Dean replied.

"Okay, well what about the girl's parents?"

"Dead," said Castiel. "There is an abundance of human sacrifice in this town, and unless they are sworn to the Order, they have already been killed. There is no point in wasting time looking."

"Well then, what about Jessica herself?" Sam protested.

"Everyone in this place is damned."

"But—"

"Let it go, Sam. I know she's just a little girl, but we've got bigger fish to fry at the moment." Dean stepped past the gate and back onto Acadia Road. He looked up and down the street before heading right.

"Yeah, but—"

Dean stopped and turned to Sam. "Drop it!"

Sam scowled at Dean, a little surprised. Usually he would be all over getting her to safety. Sam decided to let the issue go for now, but this certainly wasn't the end of it.

They fell silent for a while, turning onto another street—Toluca Ave, according to the sign—and started scanning the buildings for a gun store. Castiel stepped up next to Sam and looked up at him as they walked.

"You mentioned a poem."

Nodding, Sam dug into his pocket and pulled out the soiled paper. He handed it over to the angel and watched him read the disturbing words. "Any ideas?" he asked when Cas handed it back.

"It's a puzzle. One you'll have to solve before you make any progress."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What kind of puzzle?"

Cas shook his head. "I'm not sure. Something grotesque or psychological, no doubt."

"Great."

Dean stopped when he reach the end of the block and looked back at Sam and Castiel. "What are you doing back there? Stop gossiping and help me look!" he called to them.

Sam opened his mouth to reply when he saw a creature staggering toward Dean. "Lookout!" he shouted at his brother.

In a blur of motion, Dean pulled a scalpel he had found from his pocket, spun on his heel and buried it in the creature's throat. It twitched a few times as Dean stabbed it again for good measure before collapsing to the concrete. He kicked it once in the side and backed away from the corpse.

"They're attracted to noise, so keep your voice down," Castiel told Dean as they continued their search.

"That would have been a nice tidbit of information before," griped Dean. "Anything else we ought to know?"

"They also react to light," he replied to Dean's sarcasm.

"Oh, that's just awesome…" He let out an exasperated sigh and peeked into the window of a non-descript building with a faded sign. It appeared to be a lingerie store or something similar. There was nothing useful to him here, so he moved on. He was pretty certain he saw one of the mannequins moving.

"Hey, Dean!" Sam called, waving him over to a hardware store. "We might find something useful in here. At least until we find some real weapons."

Dean nodded and followed his brother inside. There was a pretty typical selection of heavy tools like sledge hammers, but Dean wanted something fast and sharp if he couldn't have a gun. He was considering an array of crowbars when Castiel stepped up behind him.

"Dean, I have to leave."

"Huh? Why?" Dean turned to face the angel and frowned. "Well, obviously there's the power drain thing, but…"

"I am no help to you in my weakened state. I have to leave the effects of the Halo of the Sun."

"It's that bad?" Dean asked, scowling. He was kinda hoping Cas would be able to deal with Valtiel the next time he showed up. They could certainly do without another trip into the Otherworld.

Castiel nodded. "If I don't leave now, it may have permanent effects."

That kind of explained the caged angels. "Right, well we wouldn't want that. I'm sure we can handle things." Dean sighed. "I don't suppose you could tell us where Herman went before you take off?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, but Sharalynn was at the hospital. Try there." With that, the angel disappeared before Dean's eyes.

"I really hate it when he does that…" he mumbled to himself as he walked to the end of the aisle, looking for his brother. "Hey, Sammy?"

"Over here!" he called back.

Dean followed the voice and found Sam hefting an axe in each hand. "So, it seems like we're on our own for the remainder of our stay."

Sam nodded, examining the axe in his left hand. "These should do for now."

Dean took the other one and looked at it. Seemed sharp enough. "But I'd still like some proper guns before our next stop."

Sam glanced back over his shoulder as they headed toward the exit. "And where would that be? Although I'm not entirely sure I want to know."

"The hospital. Cas didn't say which one though. Pretty sure I remember seeing two on the map."

"Because the sanitarium wasn't bad enough," Sam sighed and pushed open the door. Together they stepped back out onto the street. They ran by a monster pulling itself along the ground with clawed fingers and turned onto the unfortunately named Borden Street. Dean did a double take when he saw the street sign.

"Seriously, who named these streets?" he asked, picking up his pace when they heard a low growl off to their left.

Sam scoffed. "Lizzie Borden, while in reality was actually acquitted, is a saint compared to these people."

Dean's eyebrow twitched. "You're probably right about that." He signed and looked down an alley. Some beast's bloody corpse was sprawled out on the ground. "Hey, Herman called those monsters, the armless ones, 'patients'. Do you think they used to be people?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe, but it doesn't really matter now, does it? Vampires used to be people, too."

"No, I don't suppose it does. Just unfortunate for the poor folks who were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Yeah, but that happens a lot in our line of work. Just got to save as many people as we can." Sam quickly checked out an abandoned van for anything useful. The only things he found were a full ashtray and some loose change. He and Dean continued walking along Borden, taking down a dog, two Patients and one of the crawling monsters. Still no gun store. Cielo Avenue was blocked on both sides, so they passed by the town hall and came to a stop at Midway. Dean frowned.

"Seems to me one of the hospitals is thi—"

A loud crash, splintering wood and shattering glass cut his sentence short. The boys turned their heads in the direction of the noise. Standing in the middle of the road on their right side was a behemoth of a monster.

"What in the _hell_—?" Sam's jaw dropped at the sight of the thing's giant club-like arms. They were enormous cancerous lumps of flesh that started at what appeared to be normal, albeit muscular shoulders, and extended all the way to the ground. The limbs looked like they were bound in electrical tape as did the protrusion coming off its head.

"Son of a—!" Those are hands!" Dean said, backing up as the creature slammed one club into the ground. It raised an arm and Dean noticed that other than the obviously mutated arms, it was basically a large man. It twisted to the side as it swung and Dean's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Those aren't just hands Dean, there's a woman fused to that thing's back!" Sam gripped his axe, backing up a few steps. The woman had her back to his, her arms bound over her head as well as his so that her hands dangled uselessly in front of the man's face. She moved her legs slowly, stretching them out and bending her knees again.

The beast started to move toward them, lumbering forward as though it was being carried along merely by the weight of its arms.

"Shit. Run!" Dean took a few loping steps backward before fully turning and sprinting back up the road. Sam was hot on his heels.

"Where the hell did that thing come from?" Sam asked as they ran.

"Don't know, but we sure as hell ain't trying to kill it with axes!"

The boys ran, zigzagging down different streets and alleys as much as possible. They could hear smashing glass and splintering wood behind them, falling farther behind with each corner they took, but still following.

"Dean, in here!" Sam kicked open a back door to a shop and pulled Dean inside. He closed the door behind them and shoved a stack of heavy boxes in front. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his flashlight from his pocket, flicked it on and panned it across the room. A desk was pushed against one wall and stacks of boxes covered the remainder of the wall space. There weren't any logos on the boxes, so they headed to the only other door in the room. The small office and storage space opened into a decent sized shop. The brothers came out behind the sales counter that doubled as a locked glass cabinet.

Dean let out a low whistle and grinned at the contents of the cabinet. Guns. Lots of guns. He dropped his empty duffel down on the counter and smashed the glass with his axe.

"Start filling clips, Sammy," Dean said, pulling out two handguns.

Nodding, Sam grabbed a couple boxes of the appropriate ammunition, found some empty clips and started filling them. Dean stalked off across the store to find shotguns.

"These should do nicely," he said to himself, putting the weapons down on the counter. Grabbing their empty duffels, he took them over to the shelves stocked with ammo and crammed every last box of the much needed shells into the bags. Once he finished with that, he came back to help Sam. They worked quickly and silently, well aware that the club-armed monster was still on their tail.

It wasn't long before they both had a nice pile of clips and were ready to go again. Dean shouldered his newly filled duffel, tucked his handgun into his waistband and gripped his brand new shotgun. They quietly headed out the front door and started up the street, sticking close to the buildings.

"Either that thing is seriously skilled at playing hide and seek, or it isn't following us anymore," Sam whispered, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the thing.

Dean shook his head. "I doubt it. It probably just isn't smashing through walls at the minute. I'm willing to bet it's still tracking us."

"Yeah, but how can something that big be that quiet?" Sam questioned as they turned a corner.

"Because it knew right where we were going," replied Dean as the beast lumbered into view before them. Its movements were ape-like as it came toward them. Each time a massive arm hit the ground, the road rumbled beneath their feet.

Dean raised his shotgun, pumped it and fired. The pellets imbedded in the thing's right arm, near the elbow but didn't appear to do any damage. It still came toward them as they both open fired. The air echoed with shotgun blasts as Sam and Dean split up, moving around opposite sides of the beast. It went after Dean first, swinging a clubbed arm at him. It missed, briefly stunned when one of Sam's shots hit its knee. The monster was so full of buckshot by now that Dean almost had the urge to see if he could stick a magnet to it cartoon-style. The thought distracted him long enough that when the beast swung at him again, he wasn't quite quick enough. The limb caught him in the stomach and sent him flying through a nearby store window.

Sam didn't have a chance to even glance in his brother's direction before the monster turned toward him and swung its arm. He ducked and the club nearly took his head off. He managed to get a shot off, but unfortunately it hit the metal collar around its neck and ricocheted. One stray pellet grazed Sam's cheek. He was barely standing up straight before the monster attacked again, catching his legs and knocking him flat on his back. The air rushed from his lungs all at once and the monster loomed over him, raising a clubbed arm. It was about to stomp his head when a shotgun blast rang out behind the beast.

"Aim for the female side!" shouted an unfamiliar voice.

Two more shots echoed on the air.

The beast seemed to stop mid-action, frozen. Sam rolled out of the way as the beast fell forward, supporting its weight on its arms. Cracks formed in the concrete where it fell, showing Sam just what would have happened to his head if he had still been lying there.

Sam backed out of the way, looking over to where his brother stood. A man in a red cloak stood next to him, staring with narrow eyes at the monster.

"One more ought to put it down!"

Dean pulled the trigger again, the shot hitting the woman and making her squirm as much as her restraints would allow. The monster toppled, landing with a deafening thud. It remained still.

"Good job, mate!" The man grinned and clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"You okay, Sam?" Dean asked, reloading his shotgun.

"Yeah. What about you?"

"I'll be picking glass out of my ass for a week," muttered Dean.

Sam looked over at the man standing next to Dean, eyeing the cloak suspiciously. It looked uncomfortably similar to what the people in the drawing were wearing. "Who's this guy?"

"That's Zeke. He broke my fall."

"Zeke extended his hand and grinned. "Zeke Waterman at your service. And I know what you're thinking 'bout the duds, but don't worry. I'm not gonna kill you or anything. Although the rest of the sect would have my ass on a platter if they heard me say that."

"Sect?" Sam asked.

"Oh, yeah. I'm a member of the Valtiel Sect."


	14. Chapter Ten

"You son of a bitch!" Dean turned on Zeke, pointing his shotgun at the man's gut.

Zeke backed up, arms raised. "Whoa, dude! Let me explain, will ya?"

"Go right ahead," said Dean.

Sighing, Zeke looked up and down the street. "D'ya mind if we do this inside?" he asked, spotting a dog trotting up the street. He swallowed hard as it got closer.

Dean kept his eyes locked with Zeke's, stretched his arm out and fired twice. The dog fell twitching to the concrete. He lowered his arm and quirked a brow at Zeke. "Well?"

Puffing out a sharp breath, Zeke dropped his arms to his sides. "Fine, okay. First thing's first; I'm not a real member of the sect. I just need them to believe I am. Honestly, I'm not sure why I'm still sane after the crap I've seen in this role. I came here on a job years ago and I've pretty much been stuck here since. I've basically been forced to pose as one of them just so I wouldn't get killed." He glanced around nervously like he thought someone was listening in and preparing to kill him where he stood.

"Okay, well if you've been here all along why did you wait until now to show yourself?" Sam asked. "Everyone else seems to know we're here and who we are."

Zeke shrugged. "Oh, I knew you guys were here. I saw you walk by earlier. I just prefer to keep a low profile. People that get sucked in by this town have their own issues that I don't like getting messed up in. I've got my own problems to deal with."

"Then why now?" was Sam's next question.

"Hard to pretend you don't exist when someone falls right on top of you." A nervous laugh bubbled from the man's throat.

Dean scowled. "How did you know how to kill that thing?" he asked, jerking his chin toward the dead club-armed beast.

"Like I said, I've been here for years. I was here when the Siams first started showing up. It was a few years back now. A little while after a guy named Sunderland came through. It had something to do with his wife or something like that." He shrugged. "And it looked like it was out for your blood, Sam. You guys must have some serious personality issues to attract both a Siam and Pyramid Head."

"Yeah. We've been told. So why's it called a Siam?" Dean now asked, lowering his weapon a fraction.

"Siam as in Siamese."

Sam nodded. It made sense in a twisted sort of way. "Maybe you can help me with something else. I found this poem and I was told it would be a puzzle of some sort. Perhaps you could give us a little more insight?"

"Yeah, no problem." Zeke took the paper from Sam and started reading.

"We haven't seen anything puzzle like," Dean said to Sam, frowning.

"Not yet, but Cas told me that we'd have to solve it before getting anywhere." Shrugging, Sam looked around, making sure they were still monster free.

Dean's scowl deepened. "Because the monsters and intense creep factor isn't enough."

"Who'd you piss off? This one isn't one I've seen before to tell you the truth. People around here like their secrets though." Zeke let out a sigh, his brow creasing in thought. "Where are you heading?"

"Why?" Dean's weapon came back up.

Zeke reached out and pushed the barrel away. "Do you want my help or not?"

Sam directed a sideways glance at Dean. He relented after a moment and lowered his weapon again.

"If you haven't seen anything referring to this yet, then where you're headed could be pretty important."

"The hospital," Sam answered.

"Which one?" Zeke asked.

Sam shrugged. "Whichever one Sharalynn is at."

"Oh, so you're going after the Priestess. As far as I know, you'll want Alchemilla. It won't be quite as entertaining as the crazies in Brookhaven, but it has its own charms. Whichever one of you had the Pyramid Head on your ass should just _love_ the nurses. Other than that, you boys are on your own." Zeke shrugged and handed the poem back. "I can show you to your destination if you'd like?"

Dean shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. We know pretty much where we're headed."

"Right. Well I think I'll probably see you again before you're on your way, so talk to you later!" Zeke waved and before the boys could reply, he ran off and disappeared into the building with the shattered window.

Sam and Dean watched him leave before continuing on their way.

"I don't trust him," said Dean once they were well away from the dead Siam and the shop. "For a guy that has lived here so long, he seemed a little too chipper."

Sam had to agree. "And a bit too eager to help."

"Shoulda shot him when I had the chance," Dean muttered darkly, shooting a dog instead.

"You said you knew where we were going. Do you?" Sam asked, changing the subject before Dean decided they should go back just so he could shoot Zeke.

Stopping, Dean looked around. "I think it's just up the road." They started jogging, avoiding a couple of monsters and passing a few shops. On the end of the block, across the street from Andy's Books was Alchemilla Hospital. It was surrounded by a high brick wall with a gated entrance at the front. The gate was open and an ambulance was parked in the small lot. The entire building was covered in the same angel proofing symbols that had been on the door of the sanitarium.

Sam and Dean stared up at the enormous building. They looked at each other and then at the steps that led up to the double wooden doors.

Dean gave Sam a sideways glance. "After you."

No point in hesitating. Sam was up the stairs and pulling one door open before Dean blinked. He followed Sam inside and with a loud click, the door locked itself behind them.


	15. Chapter Eleven

"Son of a bitch!" cursed Dean, turning around and grabbing the door knob. He rattled it and slammed his shoulder against the door. It showed no sign of giving. When he turned back, Sam was already moving past the reception area and around the corner. Dean caught up with him, their boot heels clicking loudly on the stained tile floor. The place was typical of any other hospital Dean had ever been in; tile floor, boring beige or white walls, plastic plant in the corner of the waiting room. The only difference was the long-abandoned feel that permeated the air of this place.

They spotted two doors; one at the end of the hall and one on the left side just a little further than halfway down the hall. Dean grinned and nodded toward the door on the left.

"I bet you twenty bucks that one is locked."

Sam shrugged and tried the handle. It was locked.

"Ha! You owe me twenty bucks."

Rolling his eyes, Sam continued toward the other door. "Remind me when we get back to the car."

Just like they had come to expect, the other door was unlocked. On the other side there was another hallway with three more doors and a staircase leading up.

"Let's check out the rest of the floor and come back for the stairs," said Dean, moving past the stairs to the first two doors. Signs above the doors showed that these were the men's and women's bathrooms. He checked them anyway, just in case. One door had a broken lock and wouldn't open. The second door was unlocked, but something heavy was blocking the door and they couldn't get inside.

The hall was separated by an open set of double doors, beyond that were even more rooms to check out.

"You know, for once it would be nice if someone gave us a map and said 'go here'. I'm getting a bit tired of wandering blind. I never was a big fan of hide and seek as a kid," said Dean, pushing open the first door on the right side of the hall. Shelves and boxes lined the walls and unused medical equipment took up floor space. They gave the storage room a quick once-over, but found nothing useful, so they moved across the hall to the next door. This one was open as well.

"Medicine room," Sam read off the door. "Might be some helpful stuff in here."

Dean entered first, shotgun raised just in case. Glass cupboards lined the walls, each one filled with bottles and jars of various medicinal remedies. A small desk sat next to another door, an open log book on top. Each page was filled with room numbers and long words that only doctors and pharmacists would be able to understand.

"This one's locked too," Sam said, stepping back from the door by the desk.

"Figures. Nothing here, either. At least nothing I understand," replied Dean, frowning at the log book. The only thing that really jumped out at him was the number of times room 303 appeared on the pages.

"Oh well. Moving on…" Before going back out into the hall, Sam gave the shelves a scan but found no familiar labels, rolls of gauze or bottles of antiseptic.

The next room was simply labeled _Office_, but it was locked. The door marked _Doctor's Office_ was not, so they let themselves inside. The room looked like any other doctor's office Sam had ever seen; desk, cabinets, a couple of chairs for patients to sit in, the usual fare. The lack of computer was a bit glaring, though. There was a typewriter on the desk instead. Sam went to investigate the desk while Dean went into the connected room.

Sitting down in the big, comfortable office chair, he started pulling open desk drawers. The contents were, again, typical. He didn't find anything interesting in the desk, so he started flipping through the files and books on the desk top. He opened the top folder in the 'out' box on the corner of the desk and found an interesting, if not disturbing notice with a few sections blacked out. In his exuberance to show the notice to Dean, he got up from the chair and nearly knocked his brother flat on his ass.

"Whoa! Slow down, Sasquatch."

Sam gave Dean a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Find anything in there?" he asked, eyes flicking in the direction of the other room.

"No, but you've obviously got something," replied Dean, raising a curious eyebrow.

"Read this." Sam handed over the notice.

_To All Staff—-_

_ Due to recent disturbances, I advise everyone to use caution_

_ when dealing with—-. While he is under_

_ our care, he will also be under police supervision._

—_-not certain how he gained_

_possession of the morgue key.—-_

-—_._

_ We have thus far been unable to locate the keys he stole_

_including keys for Room 303 and the Morgue._

_ —body parts, mostly organs have_

_gone missing from bodies currently in the morgue._

_ We suspect—-keys to room 303—-_

_missing organs. Please be vigilant._

_ —-_

Dean frowned. "Well, that's morbid."

"He must have been doing something important down there. Why else go to such lengths to hide the keys? Could be something big," Sam replied.

Dean sighed, the breath turning into a grumble. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around the room. "For once could it _not_ be something big?" He shook his head and looked out the window that took up a large chunk of the wall opposite the door. The minimal light caught an object on top of a medium height bookshelf. A plain key with a tag had been left on the shelf. Dean scooped it up and checked out the tag. Examination Room.

"Have we been by the exam room yet?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam's brow creased in thought. "Uh, yeah. I'm pretty sure I saw a sign for that when we came in. It was through the locked door in the medicine room."

Nodding, Dean pocketed the key. "Let's go check it out."

Sam pulled the office door closed behind them and followed Dean back to the medicine room. He waited as his brother inserted the key and turned it. There was an audible click Dean pushed the door open. The room was dim, but not so much that they couldn't see the figure in the corner. It spun toward them when they stepped into the room, moving in jerky, twitching motions.

"Holy shit," muttered Dean, unsure if he should shoot the thing or hit on it. The figure was very clearly female, made obvious by the breast practically spilling out of the unbuttoned top of its dress. The dress itself was short and skin-tight, the buttons straining to stay fastened. Long legs ended in high heel clad feet. Its skin was ashen with spidery veins visible across its bare arms, legs and chest. The only thing that distinguished it from a nurse in any porno was the head, which was featureless and covered with a heavily textured skin that was cracked and broken with blackened creases and ripples. If Dean wasn't so enraptured with the creature's overly sexy body, he would have said that her head, topped with a nurse hat, almost looked like a walnut.

The demon nurse charged Dean and a shotgun blast nearly deafened him. The buck tore holes in her flesh and she went down twitching. A second shot finished her off.

"Holy shit," Dean said again.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously dude, you have issues."

Dean ignored Sam and stepped up to the dead demon nurse. She held a shiny silver scalpel in one hand. Mentally shaking his head, he started looking around the room. Desk, cupboard, a couple of chairs, a couple of examination beds, a curtain rail with privacy curtain and other standard equipment. The only thing out of the ordinary was the human heart on a steel tray that had been placed on one of the beds.

"Gross."

Sam nodded. "So…you think he put the key in there?"

"No, that thought is all yours."

The boys stood silently for a moment, staring at the motionless heart. Sam moved first, approaching the bed cautiously, although he was unsure why. It wasn't like the heart would leap off the bed and bite his face or something. Without touching it, he did a quick visual inspection but didn't see any stitches or weird bulges. Honestly, he didn't even know what he was looking for, exactly. He frowned as he looked for something to use to check out the organ. All he saw was jars of cotton swabs and tongue depressors. He grabbed one of the depressors and poked at the heart. One of the severed arteries belched blood in his face.

Dean laughed.

Sam suppressed a gag and wiped his face off with his sleeve.

Watching his brother helplessly poke at the organ, Dean shook his head and grabbed the scalpel from the dead nurse demon's hand. He handed it over to Sam and stood back.

"Have fun."

Sam glowered at Dean as he set his shotgun down and glanced back at the shelf that held the depressors and swabs. A box of gloves was hidden in shadow. He pulled on a pair and grabbed the heart in one hand, slicing into it with the scalpel. Peeling back the slice with his thumbs, he reached inside and after a few seconds pulled out something that definitely looked like the teeth of a key.

"Something tells me this key is in more than one piece," Dean stated sarcastically, scowling at the bloody key piece.

Sam let the heart fall back onto the tray with a wet smack. He deposited the piece into a third glove before removing the ones he wore. "At least we have something to work towards. That is what you wanted, right?" teased Sam.

"Shut up, Smart-ass."

Sam smirked as he picked his shotgun up. "There are still a couple more rooms to check on this floor," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Dean. "And by the way, you get to do the next one."

"Rock, paper, scissors will decide that," answered Dean.

"Fine by me." Dean always lost.

Their next destination tuned out to be the hospital's kitchen. Again, the room was average, housing average industrial kitchen equipment. Boxed and dehydrated foods were stacked ceiling-high in a storage cupboard and the walk-in freezer contained mostly meat. Fortunately there were no stray human organs hiding with the cuts of beef, pork and poultry.

Sam and Dean split up to explore the room and from somewhere in the far corner, Dean let out a snort of laughter.

Sam looked up from the drawer he was searching through. "What?"

"Who the hell stores light bulbs in a can?"

"Huh?"

Dean found Sam and held out a tin can that was indeed filled with light bulbs. "This can had no label, so I opened it up and low and behold…"

"That's messed up. Why would you open an unlabeled can in the first place?" Sam asked,

Dean shrugged. "You never know what could be hiding in weird places around here."

"I guess…Did you check the fridge yet?"

"No, I got distracted by the can o' light bulbs." He set the can down, went over to the enormous fridge and pulled the doors open. On a middle shelf, a raw human liver rested on a plate. Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell of it and called Sam over.

"That's definitely human," he said, pulling the plate out and putting it on the counter. "Talk about hiding something in plain sight." He glanced at his brother who already had his fist out for a round of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Best two out of three and Sam always won. The only reason he ever played along was to placate Dean. It was no different this time. The first two rounds Dean threw scissors and Sam threw rock. Sam won again. Surprise, surprise.

Dean grumbled and picked a knife out of the block on the counter. Not really wanting to touch the raw liver that was doing a good job of starting to rot, Dean gave the organ a chop with the knife. The blade bounced off a foreign object. Using a second knife, he dug a small cylindrical object from the liver. It was the middle part of the key.

"All we need is the handle now," said Sam as Dean dropped the second key piece into the latex glove.

Dean frowned.

"What?"

"I dunno, I was just thinking about that creepy poem. What did it say? Heart and liver and lungs alike?"

Sam nodded. "You think the poem refers to the guy in 303?"

"I don't know what to think, but the similarities are a little too much to overlook."

"Yeah, I have to agree with you there. Whoever the guy in 303 was, he really seems to like games. This is ridiculously elaborate just to hide a couple of keys."

Dean nodded at his brother as he turned away, walking back to the door. "I guess we'll find out why he did it when we get down to the morgue."

The little bit they had left of the first floor to cover was uninteresting and the elevator at the end of the hall wasn't functioning. This left them with two staircases; the one they came across first going up, and a new one leading down. They were closest to the ones going down, so they check it out first. They weren't exactly upset when they found that the stairwell was blocked off by garbage and stacks of boxes. The morgue would have to wait.

That just left the stairs going up.

They came out of the stairwell into an L-shaped hallway. It was clear at first glance, so the brothers headed to their left to check out the dead-end part of the 'L'. Four doors, three of which were inaccessible. Room 204 opened for them, so they went inside. The room was dim, just like everywhere else, but it was tidy, with two beds on either side, IV stands and various medical equipment. Two demon nurses lurched out of the shadows toward them, moving faster than one would expect. Sam's first shot went wide and he had to side step a series of lightning-quick slashes from one of the closer monsters.

The second one came directly at Dean and his shot hit its mark, sending her stumbling backwards. A direct, close-range hit to its shriveled walnut face didn't kill it! Dean fired twice more before it went down.

Sam was grappling with the other one, surprised by its strength given its size. He managed to shove it off and fire point-blank into its stomach. It let out a low moan and stumbled back. Sam and Dean fired simultaneously and killed the second demon nurse.

Dean's ears were ringing after all the enclosed space gunshots. "There are a couple of dressers over here," he said to Sam, certain he was yelling.

They stepped over the nurse bodies, each taking a dresser. Dean found a photo in a frame of a man and a woman. The woman had her face scribbled out with black marker. Creepy, but not exactly relevant. A diary shared the drawer with the photo, so he picked it up and started to read through pages. More irrelevant and unsurprising information about patient abuse, the writer certain her doctor and nurses were keeping her sick. She and her husband were from out of town and since she had been admitted with stomach pains, she hadn't seen her husband once, nor would the staff tell her where he was.

The last page was one word and smear of dried blood. The word was _help_.

Dean shook his head and tossed the diary back into the drawer.

"Found anything interesting?" Sam asked as he closed the bottom drawer of the dresser he was searching.

"Interesting, yes. Helpful, no. Just some woman's diary." Dean answered with a shrug.

"Nothing but clothes over here." Sam shrugged as well. "Another waste of time."

"That's for sure." On his way back out into the hall, Dean stepped over the nurse bodies again. One of the overhead bulbs in the hall flickered briefly before going out. Dean glanced up at it from under his brows and headed diagonally across the hall to where a sign read _Nurses Center_. Dean waggled his eyebrows and grinned at Sam.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh and pushed the door open. The nurses they would find in here would be nothing like the ones in Dean's mind.

"Y'know, I'm a bit disappointed by the lack of busty demon nurses in here," said Dean, eyeing the empty room. Two desks were pushed together in the middle of the room, a couch, some chairs, filling cabinets, another desk with a computer, pretty much anything one would need to run a nurses center. It looked to Dean like much of the daily business of the hospital was conducted here. A duty roster was tacked up on the crowded bulletin board with a staff list next to it. A Dr. Kaufmann was listed for on-call as well as another two names that were blacked out. A few nurses and orderlies also rounded out the list. None of the names jumped off the page.

"Um, Dean?"

"Yo."

Sam licked his lips and frowned. "I don't suppose this could be a huge coincidence, could it?" he asked, handing Dean a laminated card. He stared at it for a minute and handed it back.

"Not unless this town has two identical guys names Jesse. I mean, he never told us his last name, but the picture is definitely him, just a few years younger," Dean answered with a scowl.

"But what was a gas station owner doing working as an orderly?" Sam now asked. He shook his head and looked down at the identification badge.

"Maybe he wanted a change of pace? Like that's even important, Sam. No one is who they say they are. I think the bigger question is how do these people know about the apocalypse and why they hell do they want to summon some crack-pot god? Or what is this paradise I've been hearing about? They are just a bunch of zealous whack-jobs with connections to the supernatural who want to use an uncontrollable power for their own means. They're just a tad more connected than we're used to seeing." Dean finished his speech as he shuffled through a stack of papers on one of the desks. "Hey, did Cas say anything about our good friend Herman being a priest?"

"I don't remember. Why?"

"This letter is addressed to Priest Fairbanks."

Sam leaned over Dean's shoulder and looked at the letter. It did say Priest Fairbanks. He skimmed the paper and also noticed Jesse's name. "Huh."

Dean glanced up at Sam and frowned. "All you have to say is 'huh'? This, in no uncertain terms, incriminates our friendly gas station attendant. It says he was 'finding' orphans for Fairbanks to pass along to his mother, Priestess Stevenson. Oh great, we're dealing with two of the head whack-jobs." He dropped the paper back onto the desk and looked at it disdainfully.

"Honestly, I'm finding it hard to be surprised by anything now…Herman did come across as kind of a major player in this farce, and like you said, no one is who they say they are." He sighed, a deep frustrated rush of air. "And after that letter, I think Jessica was one of Jesse's 'found' orphans."

Nodding, Dean scowled at the letter. Sam was probably right about that. He licked his lips and let out his own sigh. "Aside from the latest plot twist in the most crooked story ever written, it doesn't look like there's anything here for us." He let his arms hang limp at his sides, shotgun dangling from one hand. He had been so tense since the moment they got here that he was sure his back and neck had permanent knots. All he wanted was for this to end so he could have a beer and get some sleep. Although he was sure any sleep he had for the next long while would he plagued with more nightmares than he could count.


	16. Chapter Twelve

Herman yawned dramatically and slouched lower in his chair. He looked at the door, waiting for his mother and her burly henchman to arrive with the Conjurer. It was getting closer to their time and Herman was getting just a touch impatient. If he had his way, the boys would be dead and they would have their Paradise by now. The only reason he was taking a backseat to his mother for now was because he had once betrayed Valtiel, his sect's namesake and God's right hand. Valtiel could easily end his service at any time and it would not be a pleasant send off.

That being the case, he still didn't have to enjoy doing what he was doing. Everything Priestess Stevenson did was overly complicated and ridiculous. All they needed from the Winchesters was a bit of their blood. There was no reason they should still be alive, though Herman had to admit it was amusing watching Dean's encounters with his subconscious. The big guy was usually fun to watch in whatever form he took, given how sadistic he was. He was considered an incarnation of Valtiel himself to some. He was the iconic figure of judgment and punishment in Silent Hill, and he was treated as such due to his treatment of the other creatures. Usually a nurse or a Mannequin, but occasionally a Patient or Lying Figure would bear the brunt of his fury and it was never a pretty sight. The creatures were more often than not torn asunder by a weapon that was most certainly not his Great Knife.

Herman grinned to himself. The beast was certainly appropriate for the elder Winchester if the stories he had heard in Hell were anything to go by. Boy, he wished he could see the man's reaction to his incarnation of the nurse creatures. He had no doubt they would rival the incarnation of one of the town's previous victims, a man by the name of Sunderland. That man was fun to watch, too.

Even though Dean was being tortured by the remnants of his past, he still hadn't settled his debt with Herman over Jae. Twice now he was the cause of her death and that was a large part of Herman's sour mood.

Shaking his head, Herman cleared away thoughts of his daughter. Thinking of her would not be helpful in the long run. He needed to be focused on the task ahead. The brothers, while close, still had a lot to do to get to Herman, and by that time they should be worn down enough—both mentally and physically—that they should be easy to drain. The ritual itself was complicated, but with the Winchesters dead and the symbols painted all over the building, they shouldn't get any unwanted visits. One or two of the angels that had dropped in had been particularly annoying, the ones that monitored the town and set up the original Wards. Herman didn't know their names and they liked to change their vessels like other men changed underwear, so he didn't know them to see them, but it wouldn't matter with the angel killing blade he had stolen back from Dean Winchester's duffel bag. He also had the protection of the Halo of the Sun, which weakened the angels. That particular side effect had been a pleasant surprise, since they had been able to capture a few angels and cage them, torturing them for information. They hadn't been able to get anything from the stubborn beings, but that was fine, since She would destroy the Wards once She was summoned.

Taking a deep breath, Herman looked around the room. This place was rather boring when it was just hovering in the Fog World, the plane between proper reality and the Otherworld. Everything was devoid of life and color and even the creatures ran thin. There was nothing to look at. The washed out tiles, white walls and simple furniture were plain, dull and boring. Proper reality was a little more colorful, but still on the dull side. The Otherworld was the interesting one. The colors, mostly shades of red, brown and black, were bold, dark and stunning. There was never a dull moment with the rampant beasts, grotesque displays and mind bending sights. That was when he was really able to do his job; torturing individuals, messing with their heads and slicing into their soft, warm flesh. Killing and punishing were his favorite part. He could put his bare hands into their warm bodies, letting blood-slicked organs slip in his hands and through his fingers, break bones and let the life drain slowly, excruciatingly, from their bodies. People wouldn't come to Silent Hill if they didn't have darkness in their hearts, a dark past or a haunting secret, so a little punishment was in order.

He was good at his job. If he wasn't, he would never have become a Priest of the Valtiel Sect. He was unable to tear himself away from the blood and gore and in Paradise, he'd get as much as he could handle.

Ah, yes. Paradise. It was everything The Order worked toward. All of their literal and figurative blood, sweat and tears went into this religion. Granted, there were several different sects, but together they created The Order and together, they would bring about the end of man's suffering. Of course, suffering meant something different for everyone.

Herman shrugged to himself and slouched lower in his chair. He propped his clasped hands on his stomach and stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles.

A bang on the door made his eyes drift in that general direction, but no one called to him, so he remained seated. The door was only easily opened from the inside. Backward, he knew, but it prevented interruptions when they needed to use this room to conduct rituals. The door was still able to open from the outside of course, but with a bit more difficulty. It wasn't as simple as turning a knob, so that would slow the Winchester's down greatly. Herman himself didn't know where the components were, only that they were already in the hospital. One of the components had gone missing when that self-proclaimed Necromancer arrived and had been missing since. Not that it stopped them from using the room. There was a back door, of sorts, that was not easily accessible. It was not a fun little jaunt, either, as Herman had found out earlier during his little expedition through the tight crawl space and air ducts. Only one person needed to take this route so they could open the door from the inside, the only problem was that it was only accessible during the shift into The Otherworld.

During that little jaunt, he had opened a nasty tear in his thigh, squeezing in between rusted metal bulkheads. The pain was a nice distraction from his boredom, so he amused himself by digging his fingers into the wound, blood saturating his pant leg. He looked down at his leg and was reminded of his stay in the sanitarium, reminded of the pools of blood, reminded of his visit to Hell and all of the souls he got to torture. Herman was certain not many people would enjoy a stay in the pits as much as he had. There had been hundreds, thousands of nameless, faceless victims. Then he heard about the Winchester brothers and the plans Lucifer had for the younger one, Sam. At the time the older one was enjoying torturing souls just as much as Herman himself. He thought at first that Dean would be a good candidate for The Order, then the more he thought about the name, the stronger his recollection of the letter Jae had written and the stronger his hatred became. He wanted Dean on his rack, wanted to slice open his stomach, pull out his intestines and strangle him with his own entrails. His methods of torture on his victims became progressively more creative as he plotted what he would do with Dean Winchester, but then his planning was interrupted as he was called back to Earth through a rarely used Resurrection Circle. The ritual had been done by someone he hadn't seen before, accompanied by his mother, of course. At first he was angry with her, but once she explained about the Apocalypse, he was more willing to listen. Soon he could put his killing methods into practice, a little bit at a time so that he could drain Dean's blood. Jae was the perfect lure for him, but Sam was a little harder to figure out. He had spent so many years plotting his revenge on the older one, he had no idea what to do with the younger one, but like always, the town came up with its own solution.

Herman pushed himself out of the chair and started to pace in the small room. He was of a mind to go find the boys himself, but then he'd have to get back in here. It wasn't worth the risk of being strung up for the Ferals again. All he could in here was think and he hated having time to think. He wanted to know what was going on out _there_.

* * *

><p>"You do it."<p>

"Un-unh. You do it.

"I did the last one, dude."

Sam and Dean stared down at the two disgusting, blackened lumps of flesh that they assumed were lungs. They were on the middle of a neatly made bed that was in the far corner, away from the doors. After discovering that the two bathrooms and the operating prep room were locked, the brother's let themselves into the intensive care unit. They quickly ganked the two nurses and followed their noses to the smoker's lungs.

Sam removed the chart from the end of the bed. "Whoever the patient was, he died from lung cancer."

Grimacing, Dean glanced at his brother. "Then I guess that big lump there is a tumor?"

Sam nodded. "That door back there leads to the operating room," he said, "and we need something to cut into that." Without waiting for an answer, he turned away from Dean and the shriveled, odiferous lungs. In a few long strides, he was across the room, shotgun at the ready and pulling the door open. The operating room was dim, no windows to provide light even though it was a corner room. It smelled dusty and unused, and after a quick sweep, it appeared unoccupied. It held typical operating equipment and that included scalpels and retractors. Sam grabbed one of each off a tray full of stainless steel tools, some that he recognized and others that looked like weird torture devices. He held up the tools so Dean could see them in the low light.

"Should we finish checking the room first?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "I don't see why. We'll probably just find more nothing."

"Good point." With tools in hand, Sam and Dean went back to where the lungs rested, some sort of yellowish ooze soaking into the sheets.

Dean nudged his brother with his elbow. "You do it."

Sam rolled his eyes and stepped closer to the lungs. "Fine," he grumbled. He knelt with one knee on the bed and made a slice in the tumor-free lung first. Prying the slit open with the retractors, he poked around with the scalpel. Not finding anything, he moved on to the other lung. First, he cut into the gelatinous tumor, suppressing a gag as he did so. There was nothing inside, but the surrounding area was starting to smell very, very bad. Sam quickly moved onto the lung itself and found the third piece of the key inside. Grimacing, he put the piece in the glove with the other two.

"Now, if only we had some medical tape or something…" said Dean.

Sam moved quickly away from the dissected organ and started pulling open drawers and cupboards. This was an intensive care unit; there should be something like that in here. In the very last drawer he pulled open, there were rolls of gauze, sterile bandages and medical tape. He tossed the roll to Dean and emptied the key pieces onto a flat surface. It wouldn't be a very strong key, but they only needed it to unlock one room.

Once Dean finished reconstructing the key, he pocketed it and followed Sam out of the room.

Room 205 and 206 were both locked, so they backtracked to the stairs. The layout was identical to the second floor with four patient rooms to the left of the stairwell, bathrooms and a double door plus five more rooms beyond. Like before, they started with the doors to the left.

"Room 303 should be this way," said Sam.

"Yeah, but in case you forgot, the basement was blocked off and the elevator doesn't work, so it isn't like we can actually get to the morgue," replied Dean, trying the knob for room 301. It didn't open.

"Not yet."

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam. "Huh?"

"Haven't you noticed that our entire environment shifts when we go into the Otherworld? Doors that were locked unlock and vice versa. Some halls get blocked off and others are cleared," explained Sam.

Dean gave a shallow nod. He did notice, but generally he was more concerned with other things. Like monsters trying to eat his face. "Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Room 302 and 304 were also locked up tight, so the brother's stood outside 303, key in hand and hesitant.

"Well?" Sam prodded after a long, silent moment.

"I'm going, I'm going." Dean stepped forward and slid the repaired key into the lock. Thus far they hadn't seen anything exceptionally horrific in the hospital, but then again, they hadn't gone into the Otherworld. Whatever was on the other side of this door had to be bad.

Dean pushed the door open.

"Well that's…anticlimactic," mumbled Sam.

"No kidding," replied Dean, stepping into the disappointingly ordinary hospital room. While Dean was glad there was no monsters, no organs and no dead guys strung up with their intestines on display, he expected at least some blood or maybe a limb.

The room was clean, the bed was made and the only thing out of the ordinary was the handcuffs attached to the bed frame. There was a dresser and a bedside table in the room as well. Sam and Dean split up to search for the morgue keys.

"Hey, look at this," said Sam, calling his brother away from his search. "I think I know what Mr. 303 was doing in the morgue."

Dean lifted his head and looked at his brother. "Besides dissecting people?" He walked across the room and looked at the scrapbook Sam had opened on top of the dresser. The pages were filled with newspaper clippings claiming visits from dead relatives and a strange man loitering in graveyards at night. Some of the articles were quite old. Dean frowned because he hated zombies. Zombies were never _just_ zombies; there was always someone or something with a nasty-ass spell lurking nearby.

"What do you think?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean.

Dean blinked down at the scrapbook, ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "What the hell is up with this town?" he demanded, arms shooting out to the side in an all-encompassing gesture. He was indignant, tired, sore, and just plain pissed off at everything. He was being chased down by zealous cult leaders, murderous beasts and any number of other horrible things and he wasn't even allowed to take a breather. On top of all the outward exhaustion, he was still feeling the effects of Jae trying to melt his insides. He wanted to barf, but was afraid he'd lose his entire stomach and not just its meager contents. He kicked out, his boot connecting with the wall and then some. Sam had to help him pull his foot out of the wall.

"Feel better?" teased Sam.

Dean just glared at him. "So help me if we find zombies down there…" he muttered.

Sam did his best to hide his smirk as Dean trudged back across the room. He turned back to the scrapbook and flipped through a few more pages. The word _necromancer_ appeared more than once. Sam didn't believe it was an actual necromancer since neither he nor Dean had ever actually seen one. It was usually a witch or someone with at least a little magical skill, never someone who specialized in communication with the dead. Shaking his head, Sam snapped the scrapbook shut. He didn't really know what to believe after being in this town. He felt the same way Dean did and wouldn't mind putting his foot through the wall either, but it wouldn't help anything. He knew how to control himself better than his brother did.

"There's nothing in the bedside table, so I'm gonna open up the mattress and pillows," said Dean, tearing the bedding from the mattress.

"But didn't you lose your knife?" replied Sam, glancing over his shoulder.

"Okay, by nothing I meant this." Dean held up a nice big hunting knife, grinning from ear to ear. The knife was the one that Herman had stolen from him. "I have no clue how it got here, but I don't really care." He plunged the knife into the thin hospital mattress, slicing it from one end to the other. He started tearing out stuffing and bending springs out of the way. He didn't find anything in the mattress, so he turned his attention to destroying the pillows. When he was done with that, he stood up and tucked his knife into his waistband, scowling.

"I got nothing," he sighed out, looking down at the mess he had made. He puffed a breath through his nose and joined Sam. "Find anything yet, Sammy? Besides the articles, I mean."

Sam was squatting on the floor in front of the bottom drawer of the dresser. "I found a letter explaining his transfer to Brookhaven Hospital and a map of this hospital that's been marked and has notes scribbled in the margins."

"But no keys."

"No keys." Sam pulled everything from the bottom drawer, dumping it all onto the grungy tile. A pair of socks made a peculiar metallic sound as it hit the floor.

"For someone so twisted I'm surprised he didn't find a better hiding place," said Dean as he scooped up the pair of socks and unfolded them, shaking the key ring from the toe of one sock.

"No kidding. Pretty glad he didn't though."

Dean nodded, slipping the key ring into his jean pocket. "I guess we should finish clearing out this floor while we're here." Weapons in hand, the brothers went back out into the hall. Three nurses waited for them, almost posing with their hips, knees and torsos at odd angles. They were frighteningly sexy and Dean almost knew they spawned from his personality. Clenching his teeth, Dean double-tapped one in the head, ducking away from another one as she slashed out at him. Sam killed one and turned back to help Dean. The brothers simultaneously pulled the trigger, killing the remaining demon nurse. All three twitched on the floor as their blood spread out in shiny red pools.

Sam and Dean didn't stick around to see if they'd get up or not, instead heading back down the hall to the stairwell. Like the first and second floors, the men and women's bathrooms were just off the stairwell. The men's room was locked, but the door to the women's room opened when Dean turned the knob. The room was dim and smelled like rot. The tinny reek of blood filled Dean's nostrils and coated his throat. He could taste it. He wanted to make a joke about all the blood, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do so.

A row of sinks lined one wall with a huge mirror running the same length. Four stalls took up the opposite wall. A single window overlooked the town outside, but the view was obscured by fog. The fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered and dimmed, flickered and dimmed. Each time, the illumination revealed blood everywhere; the walls, the floor, the mirror and sinks. A thin trail stretched from where the brothers stood to the stall in the back corner. Cautiously, Sam and Dean crept forward, weapons up. The lights buzzed and Sam swallowed hard. The boys stopped outside the stall and Dean tapped the barrel of his shotgun on the door, listening.

Weeping emanated from behind the door.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "Hello?" called Dean.

Silence.

Dean looked up at Sam again and pushed on the stall door with the barrel of his shotgun. With a squeak, it swung open. The brothers both suppressed a gag when they saw the inside. Blood, like a layer of paint, coated the interior of the stall, the toilet and floor. Chunks of rotten flesh clung to the walls, the porcelain and the back of the door.

Sam pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. "God, it looks like someone exploded in here." He took a step back and turned his head away.

The weeping resonated through the bathroom again, this time accompanied by words that neither of them heard well enough to understand. The hair stood up on the back of Dean's neck. Rattling metal echoed in the bathroom when the weeping subsided and the muscles in Dean's legs tensed. He felt spring loaded, ready to bolt at the first sign of Pyramid Head.

"Dean! Up there!" hissed Sam, shotgun aimed at an air vent high on the wall. The grate hung loose by one screw and dangling out of the vent was Valtiel. His bandaged hands were flat on the wall and just as before, his head was nothing but a twitching blur. Every other hair on Dean's body stood on end as he brought his shotgun up and pulled the trigger. He missed, although he wasn't quite sure how, and Valtiel pulled its twitching self back into the vent, disappearing.

When he was sure the former angel was gone, Dean lowered his weapon and scratched at some drying gunk on his arm. He tried to smooth out his gravity defying arm hair at the same time.

"Weird." Sam turned away from the vent and faced the mirror on the opposite wall.

"What?" asked Dean, moving away as well. The blood coated stall wasn't something he'd forget any time soon, but he didn't want to look at it any longer.

"I figured we'd be doing another reality jump. There's no glyph though."

Sam was right. With a visit from Valtiel, they should have been going to the Otherworld now, but there were no sirens and no glyph appeared on the wall. It was weird.

"I dunno about you, but I'm not exactly all that enthusiastic about another trip into a nightmare," Dean said to his brother, pushing the other stall doors open just to be on the safe side.

"True enough, but I don't think there's anything else in here worth seeing, so we should probably keep moving."

Dean agreed and headed back into the hall. The linen room was the next stop.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is the one we want?" Jesse asked, tilting his head to the left.<p>

Priestess Stevenson gave a small nod. "It's our only option. Unfortunately my son is such an incompetent bullheaded man he couldn't secure a better one. As it is, he is still waiting for our blood sacrifices to be killed by his precious Valtiel. Honestly, I don't trust him even though he's my blood. He's never done anything properly. He even managed to have a hand in the _Twenty-One Sacraments_ fiasco a few years ago even though I'm not entirely sure in what capacity. Walter had such promise at one point." She sighed and shook her head. "But that is neither here nor there. We're running out of time, so grab her."

Jesse nodded and reached for the sleeping girl.

* * *

><p>Dean banged his fist on the door that should have been room 306. "What the hell is this crap?" he complained at the knob-less door. There was no handle to speak of, just three rectangular indentations about four inches by three inches.<p>

Sam shrugged at Dean. "Looks like we'll have to find something to open this door," he answered.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Dean grumbled in return. "I don't have time for a treasure hunt. Not to mention I'm seriously lacking in the patience department at the moment."

"Yeah, but they wouldn't put this much effort into something that isn't important, right?" Sam stared at his scowling brother, waiting for him to confirm his logic.

"I guess, but we've been all over the place and haven't seen anything that could fit those slots."

"Not yet, but things tend to show up right when we need them…kinda like a TV show."

The crease between Dean's brows deepened. "This isn't a show, Sammy. This is our lives."

Sam bit back an exasperated sigh. "I know. Either way, there's nothing we can do right now. There are still a couple of rooms left on this floor to check out. After that, we're gonna have to go downstairs and see if we can get into the morgue."

Dean nodded, looking very much like a tired, grumpy child. He followed behind Sam as he rattled the doorknob for room 307 and then pushed through the double doors that separated the elevator from the rest of the corridor. As soon as the doors parted, a wave of rot and blood assaulted their senses. The door to the elevator was ajar and a drag trail of blood disappeared into the gap. An overturned wheelchair was abandoned in the corner of the room, one wheel still spinning. Up from the elevator shaft came a shrill, bone chilling screech.

"Here we go again," sighed Dean when he saw the still fresh Halo of the Sun painted in blood on the backside of the double doors. As the hollow call of the siren began, the world once again stared to transform before their eyes.


	17. Chapter Thirteen

Dean turned back to the elevator when he heard the call button ding. The doors of the formerly nonfunctioning car stuttered open to reveal the empty interior. It was relatively unscathed by the transformation with the exception of the puddle of blood on the floor. Dean had a very bad feeling about the elevator, like it was their only option if they wanted to leave this floor. Sam confirmed his suspicion when he rattled the double doors and found them locked. Dean heaved a sigh, too tired to bother cursing and swearing at the now-locked doors and stepped into the elevator. Sam stepped in behind him and the doors closed.

Standing quietly on each side of the car, the boys tried not to step in the blood on the floor. It didn't really matter since they were already so covered in filth, no one would notice another layer of blood on their boots.

After a few long, silent moments, the elevator gave a violent shudder and began to descend. Neither Sam nor Dean doubted their destination. They were going to the basement. The car rumbled, rusted gears and chains groaning and squealing in the elevator shaft. Dean had to resist the urge to take a flying leap out of the elevator when the doors opened. Then again, seeing the hallway before him, he might take his chances with the elevator pulleys. The floor was a rusted metal grate with nothing below but pipes and blackness. The walls pulsated, vein-like protrusions along its length, an unidentified liquid shimmering on the surface. The smell was worse than anything he had the misfortune of inhaling. The world had been reduced to shades of red, brown and black, the air oppressing and heavy. Even in the darkness, Dean could see that the morgue was directly across from the elevator.

Sam and Dean stepped out of the elevator and the doors closed behind them. Soft shuffling echoed from somewhere to the left.

"Should we check the rest of the floor first?" Sam asked, eyes darting around in the darkness.

Dean shook his head as the shuffling got louder. "No, I want to get out of here ASAP. We'll check the morgue and get out."

A low whine joined the shuffling sound and Sam nodded. Their boot steps reverberated off the metal floor and the walls gave an occasional squelch in the darkness. Dean pulled the morgue key from his pocket, unlocked the door and pushed it open. A wall of stench, hot, humid and rotting rolled over the boys. Dean was strong, but after his near-organ melting, his stomach had been roiling and he couldn't take the stench anymore. He bent at the waist and heaved. He didn't have anything in his stomach after the incident at the store, but that didn't stop the heaving. Bile dribbled onto the floor, dripping through the grate. Dean spit and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You okay?" Sam asked, his Adam's apple bobbing repeatedly as he tried to keep himself from throwing up as well.

"Fine," growled Dean. "Just keep an eye out for ghoulies." He swallowed hard and moved into the morgue. Ambient light cast an eerie glow on the already disturbing atmosphere, illuminating two empty stainless steel gurneys, and an occupied one, various trays and the steel handles of the body drawers. A few of the drawers were open and a few were missing doors altogether. Everything was covered in a layer of blood and rust, paint, where visible, was peeling and the red, brown and black persisted. One room just blended in the next in the realm of the Otherworld.

"Wow, you guys must be complete morons if it took you this long to get down here," said a familiar voice. It radiated around the room, making it impossible to pinpoint the location. Shadows obscured much of the room, so it was hard to see who spoke.

"We were taking the scenic route," Dean replied, trying to keep his voice casual while he peered into the darkness.

"In Silent Hill, it's all the scenic route," answered the voice. It was followed by a laugh, high pitched and insane. "I should know since I was lured here years ago and haven't been able to leave. Not that I really want to since this is the perfect place to practice my hobbies. With all the death that shrouds this town, I can practice to my heart's content. I know this place is supposed to be punishment for guys like us, but honestly, I really like it here."

"Well, you've been here too long…" mumbled Dean. A swirl of red cloth caught his eye and it clicked in his head. Zeke Waterman was Mr. 303.

"Told you I'd see you again," said the man as he stepped from the shadows.

"So you're the Necromancer?" Sam asked, stepping up next to Dean.

"You seem disappointed by that, Sam!" Zeke grinned, his teeth almost too white in the gloom. He laughed again, the same half-hysterical giggle.

"Not disappointed, just tired. Tired of lies, the death, the scenery…" He sighed and leveled his shotgun at Zeke.

"Ah, ah, ah! I wouldn't do that. You'll never get what you came for if you do."

Dean rolled his eyes. "And what would that be?"

Zeke blinked at them before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Have you not been paying attention to your surroundings? The tablet!"

Sam frowned. "You mean for the door on the third floor?"

"You boys must get by on your looks and not your brains. Of course for the door." He shook his head and moved over to the occupied gurney.

Dean was done with this idiot's blathering. "Okay, listen asshole. You give us the damn tablet and I don't splatter you all over the wall." He growled, stepping closer to Zeke and lifting his shotgun as well. He hated killing humans, but the people here were nothing but evil.

"That's not gonna work for me." Zeke grinned at Dean, affectionately petting the blood stained sheet that covered the body on the gurney. "See, without me, you'll never get the key to where it's located. You're lucky I basically spelled it out for you on that poem otherwise you never would have gotten the key to my room, either."

"Oh for the love of—" Dean closed the space between Zeke and himself, pressing the barrel of his shotgun to the man's throat. "I don't give a rat's ass who or what you are, or what you're doing hanging out in the morgue. I just want to get me and my brother out of here. It would be a lot healthier for you if you cooperated."

Zeke swallowed hard, but kept smiling at Dean.

There was a rustle of cloth behind Dean and before he could blink, cold, clammy hands were clamped around his throat. He was yanked backwards and slammed into a gurney. Somewhere off to the side, Sam was firing his weapon and Zeke was giggling. Dean tried to push himself to his feet, but whoever had pushed him down planted a foot on his chest, putting all their weight into it. He looked up to see a very naked, very dead woman looming over him. She had the telltale marks of an autopsy on her chest plus a few fresh bullet holes that were oozing viscous green-black syrup. It was dripping off her breasts and onto his shirt.

"And she was revived on short notice. You'd be amazed by my _good_ work," said Zeke as Dean struggled under her foot. Sam had given up shooting and was trying to shove the woman away. He punched her in the face, but all that happened was a chunk of flesh slid away. Finally they managed to get her off balance and knock her on her ass. Dean drew his knife quickly and stabbed her in the neck, roughly slicing through the spinal column and killing her again. Hopefully she'd stay dead this time.

"What's the point in bringing back the dead?" Sam asked, looking at the corpse on the floor.

"They make good minions," Zeke replied with a shrug. "As cliché as that sounds. Though sometimes you find a gem." He stayed where he was, two shotguns trained on him. "At this point, I'm going to assume you're acquainted with Priest Fairwain? Well, I sure ain't calling him a gem by any stretch, but he's some of my best work. I've finally perfected my Resurrection Circle. If I had my way, I certainly wouldn't have used it to call up that crackpot, but no one says no to Priestess Stevenson." He raised his hands in a palms-up signal of defeat.

"Why is that not surprising?" groaned Dean. "Where's the damn tablet?"

"Stand back and I'll show you."

Dean merely quirked a brow.

Zeke blew out a long-suffering sigh. "Relax. Remember how I said I wasn't gonna kill you? I stick by that." He pulled his cloak off, showing Dean and Sam an angry red incision across his stomach. It was sewn shut with clumsy but secure black stitches. Blood stains smeared across his skin. "When I said hobbies, I should have said failed career. Used to be a damn good surgeon in the real world…mind you, that was a very, very long time ago. But that's neither here nor there."

Dean gaped at Zeke. The man was certifiable! "Let me get this straight; you cut yourself open, put the tablet inside and sewed yourself up again?"

"The tablet? No, that would be suicidal! I've got a clue for the tablet's location. It won't be easy to obtain though. I have more friends than you have ammo." Zeke's grin turned dark and doors shot off the body drawers. Desiccated corpses spilled from the cabinets, looking like zombies straight from a George Romero movie. Zeke snapped his fingers and the mass of corpses descended upon Sam and Dean.

Sam kicked one of the zombies off balance as it lunged at him, shot it in the face and leapt on top of a gurney. "You said you wouldn't kill us!" he shouted over the gunfire.

"I won't! They will!" Zeke called back, watching the battle.

Dean climbed up onto another gurney, but the corpses flipped it over, sending him flying into a shelf. He avoided one zombie trying to claw at him by rolling to the side and shooting blind. These things weren't trying to eat him like movie zombies. They weren't even typical of the few they had actually encountered before. Fire would probably work, but they didn't have any, nor did they have any stakes to try. Beheading seemed to work, but with two handguns, two shotguns and one knife between the two of them, taking down the dozen or more zombies in the room would be a little tricky.

Sam continued to fire down at the zombies while Dean tried to pick his way toward Zeke in the far corner. He reached out for the man, but a group of zombies closed in on him. Their hands grabbed at his clothes, pulling him in multiple directions. His tee-shirt ripped and he lost his footing yet again. As he stumbled, he squeezed the trigger twice, managing to flatten one zombie. He landed on his back, catching a glimpse of the bottom of Sam's boot as he kicked one of the living corpses in the face, shattering the bone and cartilage. The force crushed its nose into its brain and a second well placed kick crushed in the back of its skull. Sam turned its brain to mush. It tried to take a couple more steps, but toppled over, hitting the ground in a twitching spasm.

Dean rolled out of the way, kicking out like a donkey when he got to his hands and knees. His foot connected, shattering someone's kneecap. Some of the monsters bones were more brittle than others and the kicking technique didn't always work. Drawing his knife, he started slashing haphazardly, taking out a few throats, but not actually killing anything. He was getting tired of these close quarters, nearly impossible battles and he was covered in a layer of filth and blood. Nothing short of complete decapitation was killing these things, and sometimes not even _that_ did the job.

"Resilient, aren't they?" quipped Zeke from a perch in the corner of the room.

Dean fired a quick shot in the man's direction before reloading. They were down to six corpses and were using more ammo than he was comfortable with. Dean had switched to his handgun, not that it was helping him any. He was mostly deaf from the gunfire and he was stumbling and tripping around the room, sliding on blood and bodies as he tried to stay out of reach of the other zombies. Sam's gurney was a crumpled heap in the corner and he was on the floor with his brother again.

Zeke was getting bored watching the Winchesters play with his toys and pulled an odd-looking device from his pocket. He ran his finger over it, tossed it at one of the remaining corpses and waited. A few seconds ticked by and the corpse exploded, splattering flesh and blood and bone over the room. Sam and Dean sputtered and Zeke giggled. They took the hint though and started dismembering the remaining zombies. Zeke really wanted to kill them for himself and practice his skills on them. These two would make excellent minions.

When the undead creatures were all put out of their misery, Dean took three long steps toward Zeke, grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. He didn't speak, just glared down into the man's eyes. Zeke grinned at Dean.

"Go ahead and kill me," he wheezed.

Dean squeezed harder. "I'm thinking about it. It might be more fun just to slice into you where you stand…"

"Dean!"

"Shut up, Sam. Do you want to get out of here or not?"

"Yeah, Dean, I do. But are you hearing yourself?"

Dean turned to look at Sam and that's when Zeke made his move. The slit in his stomach not only hid the information the boys wanted, but was also a fabricated copy of the acid sac some of the creatures in town used. He sprayed a stream of acidic bile at Dean and moved away from him.

"What the hell?" Dean and Sam said in unison.

"I told you I was a good surgeon. I also really liked to experiment and there is plenty to experiment on here. Besides, you don't live in Silent Hill as long as I have and not develop a few survival techniques." He unleashed another spray, but missed.

Dean fired three shots directly into Zeke's forehead. He didn't miss.

"Well that was kind of anticlimactic," muttered Sam as Zeke slumped to the floor, blood dripping down his face. The skin around the slit in his stomach was charred and black, the rest of his exposed skin white in comparison.

"You're not pissed that I shot him?" Dean snapped as he stepped closer to the body, his knife ready.

"He wasn't exactly Mr. Goody Two-Shoes, Dean. I just didn't want you to fillet him alive."

Dean didn't reply as he bent down and none too gently cut apart the stitches in Zeke's gut. He wasn't paying much attention to Zeke's dead eyes, because if he was, he would have noticed how focused they were. He would have noticed the man wasn't one hundred percent dead. He should have sensed when the supposedly dead man was going to lunge for his throat, but he didn't. One minute he had his knife in the guy's gut, the next he was flat on his back, staring into wild eyes as blood dripped onto his face. The next minute, Zeke was back to being dead, a fist sized hole blown into his head from Sam's shotgun. It was a mess, but at least he was actually dead this time.

"Thanks," said Dean, wiping a glob of blood from his face.

"No problem. Hey, looks like when he hit the floor, it dislodged whatever he was hiding in his gut," Sam replied, nudging the corpse with his foot. A little black box oozed out and hit the floor with a wet slap.

Dean sighed with relief. He picked up the slick box and opened the lid. A small piece of paper fluttered out. "Oh, you've got to be shittin' me…"

"What?"

"It looks like a combination for a lock."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, inadvertently slicking it back because of the blood and filth. It almost made him look like some sort of mobster. For some reason, Dean found this absurdly funny and an almost nervous giggle slipped out. He tried to cover it up with a cough, but Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"Did you just…giggle?"

"No."

"Oh, you so did."

"Shut up and help me find a combination lock."

Sam shrugged, grinning to himself as he set off to take a look around the room. He stepped carefully over bodies and body parts as he checked the two rusted out file cabinets, the small bank of shelves and the remaining closed body drawers. One drawer at the very bottom right corner of the wall had an old, rusty combination lock.

"Y'know, he was oddly elaborate for something we could have just shot off the drawer," Sam said, waving Dean over.

Shrugging, Dean put in the combination, removed the lock and opened the drawer. He pulled the tray out and pick up a small red tablet with three strange symbols written in black. He frowned at it before handing it to Sam.

"These look like the symbols on the Halo of the Sun…I swear I've seen these someplace before, but I don't remember."

Dean pushed himself to his feet. "Whatever. We've got the tablet, so let's get out of here. The smell is overwhelming."

Nodding, Sam slipped the tablet into his pocket. They were basically back to square one. Sure, they had the first tablet, but they had no idea where to even start looking for the other two. Their duffels were feeling a lot lighter after the zombie fight and they weren't going to find any ammo in a hospital, even if it wasn't exactly a typical hospital.

"What next?" Sam asked as they stepped back into the hall.

Dean didn't answer right away. He had his head turned, listening to the shuffling coming from the shadows. He raised his pistol, emptied his clip and headed down the hall. "My best guess is to work our way back up, checking and rechecking rooms for the remaining two tablets."

Sam tagged along after Dean, stepping over the prone forms of three nurse demons. Dean pushed open the closest door and headed inside. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.


	18. Chapter Fourteen

If Herman slouched any lower in his chair, he'd be on the floor. He was bored to tears. Besides the excruciating yet momentary headache he experienced a few minutes ago, positively nothing had happened. The brothers were picking their way through the hospital, Valtiel was scuttling back and forth through the duct work, restless. His mother and her henchman were retrieving the vessel and he was here, sitting on his hands.

Occasionally Valtiel would peek in on him, no doubt trying to decide if he should kill Herman or not. He always decided to not and disappeared into the walls again. The fallen angel was a frightening creature. He had lost his powers, but he was still formidable. His former colleagues even seemed frightened of him, sealing him off in this tiny town. Herman couldn't help but laugh at their fear and weakness. He worshipped Valtiel, The Divine Punisher. He wished to one day rise to their heights, be as great and powerful as they. He was still being punished for his past transgressions, and unless he could prove his worth, he was stuck. He had a plan, but he'd only be able to carry it out if he could leave this stupid room.

Herman shook his head and resumed twiddling his thumbs. Not only was he bored, but he could barely see his hand in front of his face since the change. In retrospect, he should have brought a flashlight. Or a few extra candles.

Oh well, no use whining like a child. Things were how they were and he couldn't do a damn thing about it until his useless mother arrived.

* * *

><p>"Holy shit!" Dean's voice cracked as he tried to whisper the expletive. "Are you seeing this? Please tell me I'm not the only one seeing this!" The panic level in his voice was high.<p>

Sam shook his head, unable to find his voice. He was honestly rendered speechless by what he was seeing. He wasn't going to say he didn't believe it since both of these monsters were custom tailored from Dean's subconscious, but it didn't make it any easier to take in.

"Please tell me Tall Dark and Stabby is _not_ molesting the creepy-hot nurse demon!"

Sam licked his lips and swallowed hard. "I think that's exactly what he's doing and we should get out of here before he's done."

Dean nodded frantically and let Sam pull him from the examination room. "That almost turns me off sex. Almost."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother as he quietly closed the door. They were back in the medicine room, only this time the shelves were mostly empty, some falling apart and all blending into the walls with the mottled black, red and brown color scheme. They had come back up the stairs, the way cleared now. They went back over the majority of the rooms on the first floor, finding nothing but monsters, death and decay. In the office where they had originally found the key to the exam room, they found some morbid patient records but nothing of any help.

Dean trudged up the stairs behind Sam, heading up to the second floor. He felt like they were heading in circles. A growl rumbled from his throat, making Sam stop on the stairs and look down at him.

"What now?" sighed Sam.

Dean glowered at his brother. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed a strand of greasy hair from his face. "You've been growling and sighing for a while now. Your bitching and moaning isn't going to help us find the remaining tablets any faster."

"I'm not bitching! How is the occasional annoyed growl _bitching_?"

"Occasional?" Sam snorted, a grin showing teeth blindingly white in the gloom.

"Well you're no pleasure either Sasquatch! I've had to deal with your bitching too." Dean headed up a few more steps so he could look down at Sam. "And I've had to pull your ass out of the fire a few times now. Quite frankly, I'm tired of saving you every time I turn around!"

"Hey, don't think I like dealing with the psycho monster rapist, either!"

"And I do? You weren't the one he almost sliced in two back at the sanitarium!"

"I had my own nightmare to deal with!"

"You mean the thing with the blood? Because I don't—"

"I already told you Dean, I didn't—"

"Dude, shut up!"

"What? No, I'm going to—"

"Shut up," Dean hissed, staring down the stairs. A group of about six nurse demons were clustered together at the foot of the stairs.

Slowly and silently, Sam and Dean crept up the stairs, walked across the second floor landing and slammed the door closed behind them. Three more nurses greeted them.

"Note to self; use inside voice." Dean muttered as he and Sam quickly killed the monsters.

Sam stepped over a body and headed down the hall. "Well, let's see what turns up in round two."

"I know rechecking every room was my idea, but it was a terrible idea," said Dean as they let themselves into Room 201. A quiet chuckle from Sam accompanied the click of the closing door. The room contained a bare cot frame, a twisted IV stand and not much else. With nothing to search, they moved on to the next room. It was the room that had the woman's diary before, but it was locked to them now, which Dean was just a tiny bit grateful for. He had a sneaking suspicion that the diary's owner had come back in some horrendous form and was waiting in there to kill them. Dean shivered despite the heat. Hot, humid and death. What a great combination.

Sam wrinkled his nose at the stench that rolled from the men's bathroom as he opened the door. A dead thing lay bloated and oozing on the rotting tile floor. Swallowing hard, Sam went inside to check each stall. The stalls had turned into rusted grating, exposed pipes and toilets that looked like if you sat on one, tetanus would be the least of your worries.

"There's a box of bullets in here," said Dean, his voice flat. Sam peeked over his brother's shoulder and into one of the disgusting toilets.

"We aren't that desperate," replied Sam.

"Yet." Dean watched one of the weird human-faced bugs fall into the toilet with a thick wet slap.

"Glad we didn't end up here when you had Yellow Fever," teased Sam when his brother stiffened as something clanged through the ceiling overhead.

Dean ignored his brother, stepping back over the corpse and moving to the cracked, dirty mirror on one wall. He frowned at his reflection so hard he swore he saw his face start to melt. Leaning closer to the glass, he saw it wasn't just him, but Sam as well. The walls were bleeding, his skin was dripping off like candle wax and Sam was grinning at him through the mirror, his lips dissolving away.

"What the f—" Dean backed away from the mirror, tripped on the dead thing and cracked his head on one of the stall doors.

"Dean?"

Rubbing his head, Dean pushed himself to his feet. "Don't ask."

Shrugging, Sam glanced at the mirror before opening the door. The hallway remained more-or-less silent.

"Let's get this over with sooner rather than later," Dean mumbled as he followed Sam into the hall.

"Couldn't agree more," answered Sam. He had no idea what Dean saw in the mirror, and he wasn't going to push the topic, either. They both had their own issues to deal with here.

_I can smell you, Sammy. Smell the yummy blood inside you…_ a voice whispered into his head.

"No." Sam shook his head, looking over his shoulder. No one was there.

"What?" Dean glanced at Sam.

"Oh, uh, nothing. Sorry."

_This blood doesn't taste as good as yours, Sammy. That's okay though. I'll have yours soon._

Sam froze, eyes straining to see into the shadows. Why was it back? He killed it, hadn't he? What the hell was going on?

_I know you hear me. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I'm waiting._

"Sam. Sammy!"

Startled, Sam's eyes focused on Dean, who had a hand twisted in his shirt.

"What the hell, man?"

"Sorry, I, uh, zoned out," muttered Sam.

"You almost became Sammy sushi," scolded Dean, releasing his brother as he indicated a dead nurse on the floor. "What's up?"

Sam shook his head. "It's nothing."

Dean narrowed his eyes incredulously. "Well, we don't have time to stand here and chat about it. Let's finish with this floor." Walking past Sam, Dean checked the doors of the nurses' center and operating room, but neither opened. The intensive care unit was next. The door swung open with a squeak of its rusty hinges.

"Of course it's open," sighed Dean, heading inside. The room was dark like all of the others, and metallic, but fleshy at the same time. The air smelled of blood, both fresh and stale. Slurping sounds reached their ears and something moved in the back of the room. It was hard to see what it was, black sliding on black, the shadows as thick as the fog had been. The brothers had pretty good night vision from years of working in the dark, but not good enough to see anything in this room. Dean slowly pulled his flashlight out, keeping his pistol trained on the shadow. He flicked on the light, blinking at the sudden brightness. Training his gun and the light on the moving shadow, he revealed what was waiting for them. At first glance, it appeared human, but it had its back to the brothers, hunched over and squatting before an open cupboard. What looked like empty blood bags were scattered on the floor around its feet.

_You shouldn't have brought him, Sammy. He'll just get in the way…_

The figure stood up and turned toward the brothers, its movements smooth. It was tall and muscular, clearly male although it wore a mask obscuring his face. One of his arms was missing, an infected stump in its place.

"What the hell?" Dean stared at the creature as it faced them. The mask was split where his mouth would be, the material stained with blood, as was his chest and hand.

"Vora," said Sam.

"You mean he's _real_?"

Sam didn't answer, just watched as Vora tipped his head to one side, the leathery skin-like mask catching the shine of Dean's flashlight. Again, he gave off the impression he was grinning at Sam.

Gunfire startled Sam, making him tear his gaze away from Vora. Dean had fired at the monster, aiming for his chest. The bullet hit its mark, right where a man's heart would be. Vora looked down at his chest and the fresh blood leaking from the wound. He brought his hand up, touching the hole gingerly. A guttural sound, an almost-laugh, escaped his throat.

_Really, now…_ he whispered in Sam's head. He sounded amused.

"I don't think that did much," Sam said to Dean.

_I told you he would just get in the way, Sammy…He's going to ruin our fun._ Vora tilted his head in Dean's direction.

"He's not leaving, Vora," said Sam, taking a step forward.

"Are you _talking _to that thing? Wait…is he talking to _you_?" Dean spared a quick sideways glance at Sam.

"Yes and yes, now give me your knife." Sam held out his hand, keeping his eyes locked on Vora.

"Sam…"

_What are you planning, Sammy? Something entertaining, I hope._

"Dean."

Vora turned his attention back to Sam, tilting his head in the other direction. His tongue uncurled from the void in his mask and flicked back and forth.

Dean handed over his knife.

"You want my blood so bad, come and get it." Sam held the knife in a ready position and kept Vora's attention focused on his goal. He was relying on Dean to keep Vora illuminated or he'd probably end up dead.

"What are you doing, Sam?" Dean hissed.

"Doing what I thought I had already done at the sanitarium. Now keep out of the way and keep him in the light." Sam took a few lunging steps forward and slashed at Vora. He caught the edge of the blade on Vora's stump shoulder, cutting into the blackened, poisoned veins. Blood poured from the wound and Vora hissed.

_That was a bad idea, Sammy. Now you're going to give up your blood a lot sooner._

"I wouldn't count on it, buddy." Sam slashed again, dodging Vora's hand as it grabbed for his throat. The knife sliced into Vora's side, opening a long slit. As Sam swung his arm in another wide arc, he slipped on one of the blood bags and was caught by Vora, the creature twisting its clawed hand in his hair.

"Sam!"

"Stay back, Dean! Don't let him near you!" growled Sam as Vora sank his teeth into Sam's shoulder. His right arm went limp and he dropped the knife as he tried shoving Vora away with his left hand.

_I used to be like you a very, very long time ago, Sammy. I had family, friends, a proper life…But They found me. I agreed to help Them, but They didn't think I was strong enough. They fed me Their blood. The power is irresistible! You can kill someone with a flick of the wrist. It was intoxicating. But then I got too strong even for Them to control and They tried to chain me up!_ The non-voice laughed in Sam's head as Vora pulled his teeth from Sam's shoulder and focused his attention on the scabbed wounds on his throat. As he lapped at the dry blood and sweat, he continued speaking. _You can imagine how well that worked, so instead They made a mask out of my own skin! It grew over my head, attached firmly to my face. I was so hungry, so thirsty Sammy. I chewed through it and went hunting. They abandoned me to a demon-less place, so before I went completely insane from the thirst, I gnawed my own arm off just for a taste. It is so concentrated in my body. I know you can smell it, Sammy. I know you think you're useful now, but they'll abandon you just like they did me. But if you're lucky, you'll find a Haven like this one for yourself._ Vora sank his fangs into Sam's throat once again.

Screaming, Sam pushed hard against Vora, shoving him hard enough that he let go, teeth coming free as he stumbled. Quickly, Sam scooped up the knife and plunged it into Vora's throat. He pulled it out and stabbed him again, this time in the soft spot under his chin. It his peripheral vision, Sam caught sight of Dean struggling to stay where he was, struggling to stand by and watch while his brother fought.

Leaving the knife hanging from Vora's jaw, Sam wrapped both hands around his blood-slick throat and squeezed. He put his weight into it, shoving the monster back into the wall at the same time. Vora gurgled, blood spilling from the slit in his mask. He brought his hand up, planting it over Sam's face. A muffled shriek erupted from beneath the palm, black veins spreading rapidly over Sam's face and neck.

_You won't win, Sammy. I'll have that sweet blood. Every last drop._

Sam felt his eyes roll back into his head and his knees give out. His skin was on fire and it felt like something was crawling underneath his skin and through his veins.

Dean couldn't handle it anymore. He was all for letting Sam fight his own battles, but the kid was getting his ass handed to him by a one-armed blood junkie. There was no way he was letting Sam die here. He emptied his clip into Vora. The monster went still before turning his head toward Dean. Dean could swear he was grinning.

Before he could switch over to his shotgun—which he had tucked down his pant leg—there was a dull, hollow sound and the air seemed to reverberate. A not-quite-visible shockwave smacked into Dean's chest, throwing him into a wall. His pistol and flashlight flew out of his hands and clattered to the floor.

_Dean, that wasn't very bright. I could kill Sammy so easily, you know._

"How do you know my name?" Dean asked, ignoring the fact that the voice had spoken directly into his head.

_I know a lot of things, Dean._

Dean couldn't see where Vora and Sam were, nor could he find him by voice. He grasped at the floor, trying to find his flashlight, which had gone out as it hit the floor.

_I could make it so easy for Lucifer to win this war just by killing you, Dean. Then I would have all the demon blood I could ever want._

"Are you sure they wouldn't just kill you?" Dean asked, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

_They haven't yet._

"No, they just exiled you to a place with no hope of ever getting the blood again," replied Dean, his breath ragged. "You were desperately sucking blood bags dry in hopes of getting what you wanted. Yeah, they're totally doing you a favor, there. They're starving you to death."

_You're wrong. I have Sammy here, don't I?_

In the darkness, Sam screamed.

"Sam!" Dean's hand landed on his flashlight and he flicked it on again. He found his brother in the light, slumped on the floor, neck and shoulder coated in fresh blood. Vora was crouched over him, licking the blood away. The knife was still dangling from under his chin.

Dean pulled his shotgun free and unloaded it into Vora's side. The one shot he had aimed at his head didn't even make a dent. Vora was knocked back by the force of the shots, away from Sam. Dean rushed the beast, standing on his remaining hand while he reached down and yanked the knife free.

_You can't kill me, Dean. I'll just come back again. Just like I did last time. As long as Sammy is alive and well._

Dean slit Vora's throat and buried his knife into the void in his mask. He stood there with the knife gripped in his hand and his foot on Vora's wrist until the creature stopped gurgling and twitching. He pulled the knife free, wiped it clean on Vora's tattered pants and slipped it back under his belt. The creature's head lolled to the side and Dean noticed an odd rectangular protrusion under the mask at the back of his head. It was about the same size and shape of the tablet they already had.

"Don't these people believe in pockets?" grumbled Dean, crouching next to Sam. The blackened veins had disappeared from Sam's face and under the blood, the wounds weren't nearly as bad as he was expecting. Dean smacked Sam's cheek. "Wake up. Hey, Sam!"

Sam's eye fluttered open and he winced at the flashlight beam in his eyes. "Oww," he groaned.

"What the hell were you thinking? He could have killed you if I hadn't stepped in!"

"I told you not to go near him. You would have been killed for sure if he had touched you." Sam wiped his hand over his face, smearing the blood and dirt more.

"Yeah, well I didn't have much of a choice with you lying there like a side of beef. Besides, he was grossing me out the way he licked your neck." Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Now I'm pretty certain our next tablet is under Dracula's mask. Help me get it out."

"You're kidding, right?"

Dean shone the light on Vora.

"You're not kidding…"

"No, I'm not kidding. And I got no idea how we'll get this mask off. Bullets just bounced off of it."

Sam rubbed his neck and winced. "Pull it off? He managed to gnaw through it…then again, he told me it had grown on his face."

Dean took a deep breath, regretted it, and knelt down next to Vora's body. He touched the mask and frowned. It was definitely skin, just a lot tougher. He hooked his fingers under the mask and pulled. It slid a little, but otherwise didn't budge.

"Try tearing from the split," suggested Sam, crouching down and taking the flashlight from his brother.

"Why don't _you_ stick _your_ fingers in there instead?" grumbled Dean, glancing at Sam.

Sam grinned at him. "Because I'm manning the flashlight."

Dean's jaw twitched, but he didn't say anything as he curled his fingers under the edges of the split and pulled. It cracked and splintered, breaking apart slowly. Dean was putting every ounce of strength into his arms, but the mask was unbelievably strong. He clenched his teeth as he pulled, the sharp edges of the mask digging into his fingers. Finally, with a loud crack, the mask broke apart and tore away from Vora's face. Neither he nor Sam expected what was under the mask to be a somewhat normal face. Pieces of flesh had been torn away where the mask had grown onto his face and the teeth were sharpened spikes, but otherwise, it was a normal, young face. Whoever Vora used to be, he had a mess of wavy black hair and pale skin and his dead eyes were dark brown.

Dean shook his head as he picked up the remnants of the mask. The tablet was in the back half, dull beige with a glyph inscribed with red ink.

"That's the Seal of Metatron, the tattoos that Valtiel has on his shoulders," said Sam, looking at it over Dean's shoulder.

"And I'm sure that's significant somehow, but I honestly do not care," replied Dean, handing the tablet over to Sam. Sam slipped it into his pocket with the other one and watched as Dean went back to where he left his duffel and reloaded both of his weapons.

Sam frowned at the floor as he held the light for Dean. It probably was significant that a man addicted to demon blood was carrying the seal of an angel. Then again, that angel was MIA, so who knew what his true allegiances actually were?

"You okay, Sam?" asked Dean, tucking his shotgun down his pant leg again. "Those bites on your neck aren't looking so good."

"I'll live," replied Sam. He couldn't do anything about his injuries right now, so there was no point in fussing over them. He'd probably be working up a good infection by the time they got out of here. If they got out of here.

Dean nodded, his expression grim. He didn't want to know how bad they both looked by the light of day if they looked this nasty in the dark.

"I bet the last one is on the third floor," Sam said, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, but we'll finish with this floor, just in case," replied Dean, shutting off his flashlight and letting his eyes readjust to the dark. He didn't want to use his light unless he really needed it. It alerted the monsters and wasted the batteries. When their eyes fully adjusted, they headed out of the ICU.

Unnoticed by Sam and Dean, Valtiel silently watched from his perch on the ceiling. His head twitched uncontrollably, but it didn't impair his sight or senses. As he watched the infamous brothers leave the room, he could feel that it was almost time for Her to be summoned. His servants would be preparing while the brothers searched.


	19. Chapter Fifteen

Finally the knock at the door came and Herman rose from his chair. He opened the door, admitting his mother, who was carrying the vessel.

"Where's your flunky?" asked Herman, closing the door behind the Priestess.

"If you are referring to Jesse, he is out there doing what you should have already accomplished, you half-wit." The woman glared at Herman as she put the future vessel of God down on the stained cot mattress. She started setting up candles, lighting them slowly.

Herman casually slid his hands into his pockets and lowered his chin to his chest. "You know mother, I'm a bit tired of the way you treat me. I don't particularly understand why you think I'm such scum. In fact, compared to you, I'm an ideal member of The Order. I don't have a criminal record, I'm respected by my followers, and I worked hard for my Priesthood."

"And it should have been revoked after you went and had a child."

Herman was a little startled that she knew, but he didn't let it show on his face. "Yes, I had a child, but that was another life. She's dead now, anyway."

"But you asked that Necromancer to bring her back for you, did you not?" The woman set a knife on the bedside table as she spoke.

"I did, but you asked him to bring _me_ back, so what's the difference?" he countered, his voice steady.

Sharalynn paused in her preparations, stood up straight and looked into her son's eyes. "The difference is that you are—or were—important for this to succeed. You have failed at every simple task I've given you thus far!"

"Oh, I haven't failed. I just didn't do things to you specifications. Remember, we are from different parts of The Order. Where you think I have failed, I have actually been quite successful." A small smirk, imperceptible in the dim light, curled the corners of Herman's mouth.

"Successful?" Sharalynn snorted. "By the time we even get them here, they'll have been bled dry. If such is the case, you'll be made useful again because it will be your blood we will be using."

Herman just smiled at her as he wrapped his hand around the grip of the gun in his pocket.

"Now come over here and help me draw the symbols."

"Yes, Priestess."

* * *

><p>"Don't you think it's a bit weird that these stairs are here even though not one map I've looked at shows a fourth floor?" said Dean as they stood on the third floor landing. He glanced at the stairs that continued upward.<p>

"My guess is that it's just roof access and that's a really weird typo," replied Sam, indicating the peeling number four that had been painted on the wall.

"Because the number four and the word roof are so easy to mix up."

"I don't know…yes, it's weird, but it doesn't really matter to us since the stairs are a pile of rubble," Sam pointed out with a shrug. He flexed his hand, trying to shake the feeling into his fingers. His whole arm was still partially numb from the bite on his shoulder.

"Yeah…oh well, no skin off my nose. We're hopefully coming up on the home stretch here, so let's keep moving." Dean stepped out into the hall, listening and watching for nurse demons or other creatures. Every time Dean heard creaking metal, he had to resist the urge to hide. Pyramid Head was making him paranoid.

"That's new," Sam said when they reached the end of the hall outside room 304. An obviously occupied gurney with a bloody sheet covering it was against the wall, but that wasn't what interested Sam since the halls were littered with gurneys—some occupied, some not. What caught Sam's attention was Valtiel, hanging from a grate near the ceiling, slowly pulling a struggling nurse demon up to the grate by her ankle.

"Guess he's bored. Needs a playmate," said Dean, morbidly watching until both Valtiel and the nurse disappeared.

Suppressing a chill, Sam pushed open the door to 304 and went in first, handgun ready. Another relatively empty room with rusted cot frames, twisted IV stands and a decaying cabinet. He shot a nurse demon three times in her odd walnut-textured face and went to take a look in the cabinet while Dean read random, insane scribbles on the wall.

The next three rooms down the hall were either locked or identical to room 304 and Dean pretended not to acknowledge the bathrooms, so that left the linen room on this side of the floor.

Piles of stained laundry, rusted and grimy washers and dryers and rusted steel shelving awaited them in the linen room. It was pretty bland compared to other rooms they had visited. An _Out of Order_ sign was strung across the front of one washing machine, the entire glass window in the door coated with blood that dripped down the front of the machine and pooled on the floor.

"Well there's your problem," said Dean when he noticed a hand inside the machine as he walked by. He grimaced as he headed toward the bank of dryers.

"What?" Sam called back to him.

"Nothing," answered Dean, toeing a pile of grey fabric. Nothing leapt out trying to eat him so he moved on. He caught a glimpse of red on one wall through the shadows and stopped. Scrawled across the back wall in what he didn't doubt was blood was a sentence. The words were all capitalized and jagged. _You can't wash away the blood on your hands_.

"Good to know," he muttered to himself. "Sammy, I ain't finding anything here."

"Me either," answered Sam, joining his brother in the middle of the room. "There's only four rooms left on this floor, so it's gotta be somewhere."

"Maybe that poor sap in the washing machine has it…"

Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Never mind." Dean put his hand on the doorknob of the second door in the linen room and paused. He glanced back toward the blood-writing, sighed inwardly and left the room.

* * *

><p>Jesse flipped the <em>Halo of the Sun<em> tablet over in his hand, running this thumb over the symbol of his faith. He glanced around the room where he waited, taking in the memories he had of days he used to work in the hospital. The Order was less desperate then, less frantic for orphans, sacrifices and fools with dark pasts. Ever since the damn angels had sealed off the town, no visitors had been coming through, but now with the Winchester brothers they had hope of bringing God back to them. Of course, they had tried before, but it always ended poorly.

He looked down at the tablet in his hand; the _Halo of the Sun_, always drawn in red or black. Every part of the glyph had a meaning, right down to the language the names of The Mother of God, Incubus and Priestess Dhalia were written in. The rovàsiràs, actually an old Hungarian alphabet, shared many symbols with Native American alphabets. It was only fitting that the Founders use the characters in the symbols of their new faith. Natives hadn't exactly given the settlers the land free of charge. They had cursed the land and the people who lived there. Jesse never really believed in the curse or the powers of sacred land, but he kind of liked the story of it all the same.

Jesse tucked the tablet into his pocket and leaned against the slick wall. The blood, rust and smell no longer bothered him. He had grown up in Silent Hill and as a member of The Order. He didn't really have an allegiance to any particular sect, often bouncing back and forth between Holy Woman and Holy Mother. In the time of Alessa, he had done more favors for Dhalia than for Sharalynn, but that changed. Now he was more-or-less Sharalynn's errand boy. He had done her dirty work by killing the girl's parents and keeping an eye on her while she was by herself. Then he had carried the girl all the way back here from the apartment building while avoiding the monsters. Now he was sitting here, waiting for the Winchesters so he could kill them. He had to admit though, he enjoyed taking the wind out of Herman's sails. He was a fountain of information, but when it came to actually getting things done, Herman fell a little short.

Something scratched at the door to the room and Jesse put his hand on the gun sticking out of his waistband. He wasn't going to waste any time when those fake FBI agents walked through the door. No chit chat, just two dead men.

After a moment, the scratching stopped and Jesse relaxed. If they didn't show in the next ten minutes, he was going out looking for them

* * *

><p>Dean grumbled to himself as he rubbed the back of his head. Neither of the storage rooms had anything interesting inside. All Dean found was a pile of unidentifiable junk to trip over and a solid metal wall to crack his skull on. Sam had found a variety of unlabeled bottles that smelled like chemicals. After Dean stopped seeing stars, they moved back into the hall.<p>

"This place sucks!"

"Really?" Sam replied sarcastically.

"I'm tired of wandering around. It would be nice if the third tablet was just lying on the floor in front of the door," said Dean, pausing before 305.

"When has anything we've needed just been dropped in our laps?" asked Sam, looking around when he heard the pipes clanging overhead.

"It'd be a nice change though, wouldn't it?" Dean cast a sideways glance at Sam as he pushed open the door to 305. A bullet whizzed by his ear the minute he stuck his head inside.

"Whoa!"

"What the hell?" Sam ducked the opposite way of Dean, bringing his gun up and aiming into the shadows.

Another bullet and another miss. Barely.

The room was black, not even a single scrap of ambient light. Dean pulled his flashlight from his pocket and shone it into the room. A person dodged away from the beam before Sam and Dean saw who it was. A muzzle flared off to the left, the bullet grazing Dean's cheek as he moved, trying to track the shooter.

"This guy doesn't waste time," Dean mumbled. He was at a disadvantage with this guy because he was holding the light, but Sam could find him in the dark and grab him. That was if Dean could just get him in the light for a few seconds. Whoever was shooting at them was quick.

There was another muzzle flash and Sam grunted somewhere to Dean's left. There was a crash, another grunt and a swish of cloth. Dean panned his light around the room, finally pinpointing where Sam had knocked the gunman on his ass and was currently trying to wrestle the gun away from him.

"Get the hell offa me!" the guy on the ground yelled, trying to punch Sam in the face.

"Wait, I know that voice…It's the guy from the gas station!" Dean kicked the gun away from Jesse, letting Sam keep him pinned to the floor. The guy looked pissed.

"Don't act like you don't know what my real job is," Jesse growled as Dean stepped down on his wrist to give Sam a break.

Dean shrugged. "We don't have any kids for you to kidnap, so I really don't see what you'll gain by killing us."

"What I will gain? A favorable position in Her paradise. Infamy among the angels. I'd say it was nothing personal, but that's changed since I found out who you really are," said the man, sounding almost bored.

"And you think killing us would make a difference? If you know who we are, then you know we have friends in high places," replied Dean, leaving out the fact that they also had enemies in high places.

"They wouldn't be able to help you here."

Dean scowled and bent down, helping Sam pull Jesse to his feet. He kept his gun and flashlight trained on the tall man. "So," he said, glancing at Sam. "Looks like you're at a disadvantage, Jesse. How 'bout you tell us where we can find the third tablet and we won't kill you."

Jesse just laughed at Dean.

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance. Sam's eyes asked if he was actually going to kill a human. The answer was yes. He would kill this man if he had to. In Dean's eyes, this man had given up his right to live the moment he started killing innocent people.

Calmly, Dean handed his brother the flashlight, stepped up toe-to-toe with Jesse and twisted his fist in the man's shirt. "You'll tell us, or I will offer you up to Pyramid Head on silver platter. We've seen what he likes to do to the other monsters," threatened Dean.

A flash of fear shot through Jesse's eyes, but he smiled at Dean. "Good luck finding him."

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "The guy is stalking me, so I doubt it'd be as hard as you think," he replied, letting his expression remain neutral. It seemed that Jesse had also been witness to some of Pyramid Head's hobbies, because he looked a little panicked.

"Or we could tie you up and put a flashlight at your feet. Let the nurses have at you," Dean continued. "Or we could stuff you up in the vents where Valtiel likes to hang out. We hear he can be a bit of an ass-hat if you get in his way. We wouldn't actually have to kill you with our own hands, you know. I'm sure you've been here long enough to know there are dozens of ways to kill a man in this town."

Sam watched his brother while he held the flashlight on him. The look in Dean's eyes was more than a little off-putting.

"I've also been here long enough to know a couple of newcomers don't stand a chance of surviving long around here. I'm actually surprised you're both still alive." Jesse grinned at Dean.

"Cocky son of a bitch, ain't ya? Okay. Sam, let's see if there's a vent in here we could cram him in."

Playing along, Sam panned the beam over the walls and ceiling. Sure enough, there was an air duct on the far wall, close to the ceiling.

"Perfect." Dean grinned at Jesse, eyes flat and dark.

Jesse felt panic rise in his chest. He knew the look on that man's face. Those were the eyes of a killer, the eyes of someone who enjoyed hurting others. He had seen that look so many times from the members of the Valtiel Sect. Those men and women enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering. Fighting these guys wasn't worth losing his life. He dropped his chin to his chest in defeat.

"In my pocket," he mumbled.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."

Jesse took a deep breath. Herman could get their blood if they needed it that bad. "It's in my pocket. The tablet," he said a bit louder. He knew he was taking the coward's way out, but that was better than being fed to Valtiel.

"Smart choice, pal." Dean plucked the tablet from Jesse's back pocket, tossed it to Sam and then cracked Jesse over the head with his gun. The big man crumpled unconscious to the floor. Dean looked up at Sam. "Well, that was easy for a change. He didn't really strike me as a coward though."

Sam nodded. "Me either, which means this was a set up and he knows what's behind that door and we don't stand a chance."

"Let's go see for ourselves."

Sam felt the tablets in his pocket and sighed. Whatever was in the room next door, he hoped they lived through it to see tomorrow. It'd be nice to survive long enough to prevent the apocalypse.

"We'll be fine," Dean told Sam, ushering him back into the hall. He stopped in front of the door to 306 and looked over at his brother. Sam stepped up and placed each tablet into a slot. Halo of the Sun. Seal of Metatron. God. The door clicked and swung open. This was it. This is what they were here for.

They went inside and the door closed behind them.


	20. Chapter Sixteen

Candle light illuminated the interior of 306 from every available surface. Two forms leaned over a cot, one chanting, and the other drawing on the skin of the small child on the bed. The child twisted her head from side to side, moaning in pain. The tiny voice echoed through the room, calling to Her protector, the angel Valtiel.

Herman looked up from drawing the arcane symbols on the child's stomach and forehead and noticed the fallen angel watching them intently. The constant spasmodic movements just seemed to add to his excitement.

"Pay attention to what you're doing!" Priestess Sharalynn scolded him.

Herman frowned. "I don't even see why we're doing it this way. The immolation ritual is for a priestess of the Holy Woman sect to perform. This girl should have been raised as a Conjurer to descend Her into a sacred object. That is if you are doing things the way you should Priestess Sharalynn of the Holy Mother."

"Do not lecture me on faith, boy! There was no time to raise her to be a Conjurer. She will birth God instead," replied Sharalynn, returning to her chanting. Shapes started to reach up from under the girl's skin, taking the form of a vague face at first. Her stomach distended as the soon-to-be God tried to break free.

Herman smiled to himself and Valtiel.

Behind them, the door creaked open and the Winchesters entered the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean demanded to know, lifting his gun. "Step away from the bed, lady. You too, Herman."

"Looks like your errand boy failed too, mother," said Herman, backing up slowly.

"Dean! That's Jessica!" Sam said with a half-gasp when Herman stepped out of the way. The little girl on the bed was writhing in pain, the face still trying to stretch free from her belly.

Dean grabbed the chanting woman's arm, spinning her around while Sam went to the bed.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Sharalynn Stevenson. You're the one we've been looking for this entire time," said Dean, looking down into the woman's eyes. She looked back defiantly.

"You're a stubborn one! A normal man would have died of fright by now," Sharalynn said to him, a brittle smile on her face.

"Yeah, well, I'm not entirely normal. Hey, Sam! How's the girl?"

"I don't know how to stop this, Dean!"

"There is no way to stop it! The immolation ritual has been conducted. This vessel will soon birth God."

"Too bad you won't be around to witness it, mother," Herman said from a dark corner of the room.

Sam and Dean turned just in time to see Herman pull the trigger of his handgun. Sharalynn slumped in Dean's arms, a hole in the center of her forehead. Herman smiled brightly.

"Oh, I've wanted to do that for so long now. She was such a blowhard. Always acting like she was so much better than the other members of The Order, talking down to me because I made one slip-up…" Herman sighed. "It is a shame she won't be able to see me reclaim my glory though."

Dean didn't even have a chance to open his mouth before Herman tore his shirt open, buttons popping off. Painted on his chest was the Seal of Metatron.

"I know Valtiel is virtually powerless by himself, but with this, you won't be able to stop him." Herman's voice was calm as he raised his wrist to his mouth. With a tearing motion, he opened a rip in his skin and let it bleed. "Try and stop me now, Dean!" Faster than Dean or Sam could raise their weapons, Herman pressed his bloody wrist to his chest and the sigil exploded with light.

Dean was blinded, still holding the dead woman in his arms. To his left, he vaguely heard Sam call his name. Suddenly something heavy slammed into him and he was knocked off his feet. The bright light faded away and Dean blinked the retina burn from his eyes, seeing that it was Sam that had hit him. Sitting up with a groan, Sam looked across the room to where the cot should have been. It and Herman were gone, an enormous hole in the wall.

The brothers scrambled to their feet, running across the room to the hole. They leaned out, looking out over the courtyard. The sky was black and heavy and the world felt empty. Dean twisted his neck around, looking skyward. Hovering just past the fence on the roof was Herman. Or more accurately, what used to be Herman.

"The Seal of Metatron must be a source of power," said Sam.

"Shit," cursed Dean as the Herman-Valtiel hybrid looked down with void-like eyes and grinned at the, before disappearing onto the roof. "We've got to get up there."

"But the stairs were inaccessible."

"What about the elevator?"

"We could try it I guess, but—"

Dean wasn't listening. He was across the room, tugging on the door latch. It wouldn't open, so he kicked it. Nothing happened.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean ran back across the room and looked out onto the town. He leaned out, turning his face toward the roof. The little girl's scream carried to them on the still air. Sam's eyes filled with panic. Dean let out a string of curses, looked down at the ground and back up toward the roof. He slung his duffel across his chest, furrowed his brow, took a deep breath and stepped over onto the nearby windowsill.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

"We can't get out of this room and we have to stop whatever is happening on the roof. That leaves one option; climb." Dean grabbed onto the window frame with one hand and found purchase in the uneven brick work with the other. His shoulders and biceps bulging, he stated to scale the side of the building. The brick started to crumble under his fingers in a few places and he lost his footing more than once between the window of the third floor and the window of the fourth floor. The window was covered with wire mesh and Dean was grateful for it because he didn't have to dig his fingers between the bricks to hold on. He glanced down, noticing Sam was just stepping out onto the third floor windowsill. Swallowing hard, Dean returned his attention to his own climb. It wasn't that far up to the fence on the roof, but those few meters may as well be a few miles with the amount of hand holds available. The most secure-looking hold was just barely within reach and he stretched out, bracing his foot on a decorative, but narrow outcropping. On his first try to reach it, he slipped, leaving him hanging by one arm. After a little struggling, he righted himself and tried again, managing to grab the hand hold this time.

Past the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear the little girl—Jessica—screaming and crying and begging to the Herman-Valtiel hybrid. The air was almost electric with his powers.

Dean was just a short distance from the bottom of the fence now, but there was nothing but smooth brick between here and there. There was only one option and he'd only get one shot at it. Hanging on to the brick, Dean straightened his arms and bent his knees. He tensed his muscles, his legs and arms quivering from exertion and exhaustion. If he missed, he'd be a dead man. Taking a deep breath, he pushed off with his legs, leaping toward the bottom of the fence. He reached up as he jumped and his fingers closed around cool steel. The chain link fence clattered loudly as he thumped against the wall, jarring his ribs. His hands were sweating, but he pulled himself up, hand over hand until he could hook his boots into the links. He climbed the fence and dropped down on the other side. As soon as his boots hit concrete, something caught him in the stomach, picking him up and flinging him into a wall. He hit the ground rolling, dodging an explosion of some sort. Dean managed to get his feet under him and he was running before he was fully upright. His eyes searched for Sam, catching sight of his hands on the fence. He made an abrupt turn, ducking behind an air conditioning unit. Peeking over the top, he saw the girl, bed and all, suspended upright above the ground. More blood than was possible streamed off her toes, her skin cracking and tearing as the being inside her pushed for a way out. Dean felt sick, watching her suffer.

From his cover behind the AC unit, Dean drew his shotgun, aimed and fired. The smattering of buckshot hit an invisible barrier surrounding Herman and clattered to the ground.

"Oh, Dean," said two overlapping voices. "Do you really think you and your brother can stop this?" The Herman-Valtiel hybrid twisted his head in Dean's direction and extended his newly muscular arm. What looked like a lightning bolt shot toward the AC unit, making it explode in a shower of flame and sparks.

Dean rolled out of the way, on his feet and running again. He crashed into Sam, grabbing his arm and pulling him behind a small concrete block. Sparks and bits of rubble bounced off the block, but didn't reach the brothers.

"What's the plan?" whispered Sam, eyes wide as he tracked the muscular, twitchy version of Herman.

Dean shook his head. "I haven't gotten that far. He seems to have a barrier or something though, 'cause my shot didn't go through."

"Jessica is going to die if we don't do something," said Sam, spotting the little girl where she was suspended, her body bloody and being torn apart from the inside. Her head was lolling from side to side, her mouth open in silent screams.

Dean didn't have the heart to tell his brother that the little girl was going to die no matter what they did. The being hovering on the other side of the roof was their problem right now. He was big, with wide shoulders, muscles where there had been none before, arcane symbols drawn all over his bare torso. His head gave occasional spasms like the constant twitching of Valtiel. They had no idea what the extent of his power was, nor did they know how to put a dent in his armor.

"I have to admit," said the double voiced hybrid, "the powers of Metatron rival those I had in Heaven. This feeling is much better."

Beside Dean, Sam bent over backward, almost folding in half as he let out a shriek before suddenly being stretched spread-eagle. His joints audibly popped and he screamed, his voice cracking.

"Sam!" called Dean, reaching toward his brother, only to have him flung backward and dangled over the courtyard below. Dean got to his feet and turned toward the hybrid. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't result in Sam's death. "Why are you doing this? Isn't it me you actually want?"

"Why? Do you know how long I've been without my powers? The Lucifer rebellion. Your God stripped my powers…but then I found Her. I protect Her. And now this human has done what I've been trying to do for centuries! He used the Seal of Metatron to funnel power back into my body. I'm doing this for _fun_."

"But that isn't your body, it's Herman's," Dean answered.

Valtiel shrugged. "Your point? It's still a better vessel than that abomination. It didn't move right, it didn't speak, it barely functioned. But now I can actually do my duty to protect Her to the fullest of my ability and you and your brother are just getting in the way!"

Dean felt the skin on his right bicep split explosively, the long cut spurting blood onto the rooftop. Droplets floated in the air and over to the girl on the bed. The drips splattered down onto Jessica's head and abruptly she seized. Her back came up off the bed, bending her like an upside down U, and her gut burst. A light, impossibly brighter and more concentrated than the one from Herman filled the flat black sky.

Dean couldn't hear. Couldn't see. Couldn't think. Could barely even breathe. A hand touched his cheek, soft and gentle. Lips brushed his ear, whispering, and suddenly he could see again.

"I will bring you to Salvation."

Every inch of Dean's skin tingled at the sound of her voice.

"Your suffering and your blood have given me strength, Sword of Michael. You will be first by my side when I bring about Paradise."

"Sam," Dean managed to croak out, turning burning eyes to where he was still dangling in mid-air, like a marionette on strings.

The glowing shape of a woman turned her head toward Sam and then back to Valtiel and nodded. The being brought Sam back over the fence and dropped him like a sack of bricks next to Dean. He grinned down at the unconscious man, his head twitching violently.

Staggering to his feet—he didn't even realize he had fallen—Dean faced Valtiel and The Order's god. The woman was glowing, glimpses of red and black visible but no distinguishing features. She seemed real and imaginary, strong and fragile all at once. There was something unidentifiable, something not right about her. Dean knew from experience the different deities that could exist, but this one…What type of god let its followers endure this living nightmare just to prove they were faithful? What type of god killed children just so they could live?

His arms leaden, Dean lifted his shotgun. "Die, bitch." He pulled the trigger and felt the abrupt change in her demeanor. Fury poured from her in black and crimson waves. She parted her arms, electricity cracking around her. All Dean could clearly see of her was her eyes, which were blood red. No pupil, no shine, just flat red. Those eyes were focused on him.

Pain shot through Dean, coursing through his limbs like fire. He could hear someone screaming and he really hoped it wasn't him. The pain stopped as quickly as it started, leaving Dean on one knee, clutching his chest.

"Disobedience will only cause you more suffering," said Valtiel's voice too close to his ear.

Dean tried to push himself to his feet, but he was weak. Whatever that so-called god had done really drained him. He turned his head to Valtiel, looking at his grinning face. Only now was he regretting not taking extra time to look for their gear. That angel-killing blade would have come in really hand right about now.

"What are you going to do, human? Your options are limited. Death by our hands or yours?"

Dean barred his teeth in a mockery of a grin. "Those are pretty crappy options." Slowly, he reached for his knife, only it wasn't where he put it. He didn't want to turn away from Valtiel to look for it, but since his gun didn't seem to work on either the former angel or the deity, he wasn't left with a lot of choices.

There was a blur of motion to his right and he couldn't help but turn his head to look. Sam was up and moving, Dean's knife in his hand. The big man moved fast for his size, slashing at Valtiel's chest. The angel was quick too, evading Sam and striking back with small, concentrated explosions at first.

Dean was still too weak to get up, so he focused his attention on the woman. She was floating six or seven feet above the rooftop. She had her head tilted back, looking up into the flat black sky. She was distracted. Valtiel was distracted. Dean fired on her. To his dismay, the rounds never reached her, clattering uselessly to the ground.

"As long as I protect Her human, you will not harm Her!" Valtiel called to Dean as he continued to fight with Sam.

Right. So, kill the newly restored angel, have a chance at killing the deity that will most likely destroy the planet. No pressure.

Taking a few deep breaths, Dean forced himself to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. He tracked Sam and Valtiel to the far side of the roof, still fighting and showing no signs of slowing. Valtiel was throwing shockwaves, fire and lightning at Sam, but like a good Winchester, he kept fighting. His knife combat had always been good, but he hadn't even struck Valtiel once yet. Dean had to help, but his guns wouldn't work and they only had the one knife between them. His eyes darted around frantically, the crimson glow of the god illuminating the rooftop. He spotted a jagged shard of metal a few feet away—remnants of the exploded air conditioner—and ran for it. Tripping over his own feet, he nearly did a face plant as he scooped up the shard, but managed to regain his balance. There was what looked like a shed ahead of him, so he ducked beside it, positioning himself behind Valtiel. Sam was trying to corner him, but since gravity wasn't exactly a binding law with Valtiel, he was having some difficulty. Rushing out, weapon raised, Dean aimed for the angel's back. Valtiel spun, confronting Dean. His void-like eyes focused on the elder Winchester and he seemed to forget about Sam. The angel raised his arm, ready to vaporize Dean when Sam reached around from behind and put a nice deep slice across Valtiel's chest. The being dropped to the ground, losing a little bit of his presence as he sagged at their feet.

Sam and Dean's eyes met. Destroy the sigil, destroy the being.

Unfortunately for the brothers, Valtiel was on his feet again and still just as powerful. Extending his arms, he sent them both flying. Dean landed with a thump on his back, looking up into the blackness. Overhead, an almost holographic Halo of the Sun, pulsating red, was growing by the second.


	21. Chapter Seventeen

Dean cursed under his breath as he rolled to his feet. That woman was messing with some seriously bad mojo. They needed to gank Valtiel quickly, preferably before that arcane symbol reached its full size.

Sam and Dean's eyes met across the roof and Dean glanced at Valtiel. One of them was going to have to be a decoy, taking the brunt of the angel's attacks. Destroying the sigil was going to be a lot harder than he would have liked. He looked back at Sam and puffed out a short sigh.

"Hey douche bag!" Dean called, gaining Valtiel's attention. "What the hell are you supposed to be, anyway? You're not an angel and you aren't exactly a demon, either. You're inhabiting a resurrected man who isn't even entirely loyal to you in the first place. He went against the rules of your followers and had a kid. I know, cause I've been involved in her death twice now," he taunted. "I guess a meat suit is a meat suit to you guys, eh? It's gotta be better than crawling around in pipes and vents, twitching like an epileptic."

Valtiel sent a line of fire in Dean's direction, scorching the soles of his boots before he got out of the way.

"That all you got, buddy? Hate to say it, but you barely measure up to the low-rank demons I hunt every day." Dean spread his arms wide, mocking. "I can't _believe_ you protect God! How does a no-power, forgotten, exiled angel get _that_ job?" He laughed at Valtiel, trying to piss him off enough that he wouldn't notice Sam behind him. It seemed to be working because Valtiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, clenched his fist and tossed Dean on his ass with another shockwave, followed by a lightning bolt that nearly fried him.

_C'mon, Sam! Make a move!_ With a grunt, Dean got to his feet again. "Okay buddy, two things to say. One; you know this isn't gonna end well for you or her. Two; getting tossed on my ass and almost barbequed is getting _really_ old. What else you got to show me?"

Valtiel grinned as he tilted his head to the side, a spasm running through his body. His weird eyes stared right into Dean's soul as he quirked a brow at him. All at once, every inch of Dean was in agonizing pain. His organs felt too big for his skin and blood started to drip from his ears and nose. It was beading on his skin as well, forced to the surface

"What do you people have against my organs?" he choked, coughing up something lumpy. He didn't have to endure the pain long because Sam finally made his move. As soon as Sam made another slice in the sigil, Dean turned and fired his handgun at the woman. The world flickered briefly, like a television with bad reception.

"You will die!" A circle of flame erupted from the ground at Valtiel's feet, spreading outward toward Sam and Dean.

"Jump!" Sam yelled as the fire raced toward them. They jumped the line of flame and it fizzled out as it reached the edge of the rooftop. Dean had to pat out the flames that licked at his pant leg and dodge a flying brick at the same time. Sam's luck wasn't much better.

"I feel like I'm in a damn video game!" exclaimed Dean, dodging more supernatural attacks. The symbol in the sky was still growing and the woman was glowing impossibly brighter.

Barely getting out of the path of more flying debris, Sam and Dean found scant cover behind the outcropping of the stairwell. Taking the brief reprieve, they reloaded their weapons and took stock of the situation. The woman calling herself God was still floating well above the rooftop, unscathed thanks to Valtiel's protection. The exiled angel wasn't doing as great though. A black light seemed to ooze from the cuts on his chest, bits of his corrupt soul trying to find its proper shell. Dean also noticed that Herman's body was starting to degrade trying to contain so much raw power. It wasn't something that normally happened when angels took a meat suit, but Valtiel was anything but normal.

"Too bad we can't just wait around until he explodes," muttered Dean as he leveled his handgun at Valtiel.

"What are you doing? You know shooting him doesn't work."

"He's lost some power, so it might now." Dean squeezed the trigger, aiming for the center of the unidentified sigil on his back. The bullet found its mark, but it didn't do any more than piss Valtiel off. The roof opened up beneath their feet, boots stepping on crumbling concrete, trying to gain purchase.

"Herman's body isn't going to hold out forever, Valtiel! All that power you're using to protect her and trying to kill us with is eating him from the inside out!" Dean shouted, avoiding two lightning strikes and a fire bomb.

"I did not choose this vessel, human, it was forced on me. I can hold this flesh bag together until I can find a more suitable host. Perhaps you are volunteering?" Valtiel swung his arm in a wide arc, sending Dean in somersaults across the roof.

"Do you hear me asking to be angel bitch?" groaned Dean, pulling himself up yet again. His movements were starting to get sluggish from the constant beatings and two time nearly catastrophic organ failure. He was basically a walking bruise. "Y'know, for some all-powerful being, you don't pay very close attention to your surroundings," Dean now said as Sam put another slice in the Seal of Metatron. More of the blackness leaked away, along with his powers. Valtiel let out a howl, spinning toward Sam and landing a solid back hand to his jaw. The angel was getting weaker by the minute, but the more power he lost, the angrier he was becoming. His hand hovered over Sam, pinning him to the ground. Slowly, he pushed down and Sam started sinking into the solid concrete of the rooftop like it was sand.

Dean was at a loss. Sam had the knife, his guns were ineffective, and if he tried attacking the woman, Valtiel would probably kill Sam. The only think he could think to do was draw Valtiel's attention away from his brother. Taking a few steadying breaths, he leapt at Valtiel, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. They grappled with each other briefly, Dean managing to get a solid punch to the side of Valtiel's face, a chunk of flesh tearing off under his knuckles. Herman's body wasn't going to last a whole lot longer.

Valtiel used another shockwave to shove Dean away, but it was barely a quarter of the strength it had been. Dean almost managed to stay on his feet, but lost his balance and came down beside Sam, his hand falling on the knife. The blade pierced his skin, but he didn't notice as he scooped it up and charged the angel again. He was getting tired of playing tag with this guy.

Protecting himself and his God was proving to be too much for Valtiel because Dean was able to get nice and close, striking out at the paintings on his chest. He made a long slash in the being's skin from his left shoulder to his right hip, blood and blackness pouring out in equal measure. The black ooze dribbled from Valtiel's mouth as well, but despite his state, he smiled at Dean.

"I know you think you've killed me, human, but you are mistaken. The only ones dead will be you, your brother and this vessel." The broken sigil glowed again, duller and darker this time as Valtiel fled his vessel. Herman collapsed to the ground, dead. Behind him, the woman's light receded just enough that Sam and Dean could make out her features. She wore a long red dress that floated around her like smoke and her hair was as black as the sky above. Her skin was ghostly, the red eyes piercing against her pallid face.

The Halo of the Sun in the sky was still growing, trying to encompass the entire town.

Slowly lowering herself to the rooftop, the woman looked at Sam and then at Dean. She smiled, but her ethereal voice didn't sound at all amused when she spoke. "Sword of Michael. Vessel of Lucifer, you have murdered my Valet. You have no place in the Paradise I will create. Letting you suffer in the forthcoming apocalypse would be too good for you. I will kill you myself." She waved her hand as if she was dismissing them, but instead they were thrown into the sky. She let them hang there, twenty feet above the rooftop. Every few minutes she would drop them a few feet, taunting them, watching them struggle against her might. Each time she let them free fall, she'd catch them with a spine rattling yank of the neck. Just as their faces started to turn purple from lack of air, she'd let them drop again. Once they were back on the ground, she immediately tossed them to opposite ends of the rooftop. Finishing what Valtiel had started, she peppered the roof with holes, obstacles to make toying with them more entertaining.

As Dean zigzagged around the pits, he looked down into each one. In the gloom of the fourth floor rooms, monsters wandered, waiting for their next meal to fall in on them. He needed to get to his guns and duffel bag before Queen Bitch decided to drop them in a hole. He lost his gear once already, he wasn't gonna lose it again. He knew that she had her eyes on both of them—she wasn't as blind as Valtiel—so he'd have to be both quick and a little sneaky. His stuff was next to the stairwell, on the far side of one of the holes. As he ran for it, he caught sight of Sam heading in the opposite direction. Under their feet, the still solid bits of concrete began to crumble, making way for the rusted metal work that made up the rest of the Otherworld.

Dean tripped on the new, uneven surface, falling headfirst toward the hole he had been running toward. Sam called out to him, but Dean was focused on the jagged metal edge of the hole. Mid fall, he twisted his torso and grabbed the edge before he fell in. The sharp metal pierced the skin of his palms and fingers as he hoisted himself up.

Sam reached his gear before Dean, slamming a fresh clip into his handgun and firing in the direction of the woman who called herself God. He kept moving as he did so, careful of his footing. He couldn't tell if the bullets were even doing damage as she returned his attach with a volley of fireballs. She looked up at the glyph that was glowing in the sky, a pleased expression on her face before directing her empty red gaze back at Sam. A crack of thunder broke the oppressive silence of the night. At least, Sam thought it was thunder. The crack was accompanied by a bright blue flash on the horizon and a lingering after burn image of complex arcane symbols, both Enochian and the odd characters in the Halo of the Sun. Sam was sure it was one of the sealing wards being destroyed. She was trying to open the town again.

"…Cas, we could really use your help right now," Sam muttered to himself as he emptied another clip into the woman. On the opposite end of the roof, Dean was stuffing shotgun shells into his jean pockets and reloading his weapons as fast as his injured hands would let him. Everywhere around them were random lightning strikes, explosions and flying pieces of metal and brick. Sam tried to think of something—anything!—that would help them out of this mess. They had fought and killed all kinds of beasts and monsters but he could not think of a single experience he could apply here. She didn't seem to be a typical demon, nor was she an angel of any sort. Bullets didn't appear to do any damage and Dean had their only knife, not that he'd be able to get close enough to try and use it anyway. He tried to think as he moved, avoiding her attacks by the skin of his teeth.

Dean was on his feet and moving again, trying to reach Sam. He fired his shotgun at the woman while at a dead run, attempting not to break his neck. The remaining sections of the roof were slippery and uneven, making caution difficult. There was little to no cover and it was more-or-less raining fire now. On a whim, he picked up a long, slender piece of rough, rusted steel and threw it as hard as he could at the woman. It flipped end-over-end, embedding itself in her stomach. Her attacks stopped and the Halo flickered. Dean was dumb-struck. He hadn't expected that to even reach her, let alone work!

There was another loud crack, like the one before, this time accompanied by a yellow flash in the sky and the Halo pulsated, getting brighter. A smug expression washed over the woman's face as the piece of metal dislodged and flew back at Dean. He was a hair too slow and it sliced through his jeans and the flesh of his outer thigh. Blood flowed from the cut, dripping onto the metal below his feet.

"Your suffering is my strength."

"Bite me!" Dean grabbed another shard of metal and threw it at her. The shard missed her by a mile, not even grazing her smoke-like dress. Dean cursed under his breath and headed for one of the tiny bits of cover left on the rooftop. He practically fell onto Sam's lap as he dove behind a heating vent.

"She's destroying the seals the angels put in place," Sam said as he peeked over the top of the vent.

"Yeah, I saw that."

"Did you notice when they break they are blue and yellow?" asked Sam, glancing at Dean.

"I've been busy trying not to _die_, Sam," hissed Dean, pulling Sam to his feet and running to another vent as the woman blew up the one they had been hiding behind.

"Then I guess you didn't notice that each one had a combination of Enochian writing and those weird symbols used in the Halo."

"What the hell's your point?" barked Dean, flinching as another seal broke.

"Something I read earlier. The Halo in blue or yellow curses God."

"Good to know Sam, but unless you're carrying art supplies, we're pretty much boned." They were moving again, throwing shards of metal as they ran. One of Sam's struck her chest and again she stopped, the Halo overhead flickering.

Dean was right. All they had were their duffels, two hand guns, two shot guns and a knife. He had nothing to use to draw the Halo and he doubted he could do it quickly and accurately.

"Got any other ideas, Picasso?" Dean asked, using the brief pause to reload again.

"Keep chucking stuff at her?"

Dean glared at his brother.

"What? Why don't _you_ think of something!"

"I'm trying!"

"Wait…I think I've got it. Dean I need the knife."

"What's you plan?" Dean asked, handing over the blade.

Before Sam could explain, the onslaught stared again, forcing Sam and Dean to split up. Dean was swearing to himself as he ran. He was running out of metal to throw at this chick and he wasn't having fun avoiding the barrage of lightning and fire. The seals were breaking at an alarming rate, he had no idea what Sam was doing, and he was stuck distracting a being that could destroy the planet. More accurately, they wouldn't recognize it when she was done with it.

He emptied yet another clip in her direction. The bullets looked like they were hitting her, so they had to be doing some sort of damage, right? At the very least, they had to be distracting. Dean was pretty sure that even if he were some omnipotent-type being, a full clip would at least make him turn his head to acknowledge the person shooting at him. Not this broad, though. She didn't even have so much as a sideways glance for Dean. Somehow that really pissed him off.

"Hey lady!" he called, tucking his pistol into his waistband and picking up a triangular shard of steel. "You should pay attention when I'm trying to kill you!"

She turned toward him as he walked up to her. She was confident, unconcerned with him, but willing to play along anyway. Dean walked into the smoky, billowing trails of her red dress, the colored fog rising up around his body like water.

"You are bold, approaching me like this. Or perhaps just stupid? Either way, the last of the seals places around this town is almost destroyed. Darkness will envelope your world and I will show the worthy the Path to Paradise." Looking at Dean, the woman calling herself God smiled. Her face was soft, kind, but her eyes held a piercing hatred. She was a being created through hate, sacrifice, bloodshed and pure evil. Blackness shrouded her like a halo and blood red oozed in an ethereal glow around her.

"That's a pretty big job for someone only minutes old," replied Dean, his voice more steady than the pounding of his heart. He kept eye contact with her, not taking the chance to look away and scope out his brother.

"I am not alone. Lobsal Vith and Xuchilbara will help guide man kind to see my power is more than they have ever known. I have many angels on my side."

"Enough of this bullshit!" Dean exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "You and everyone else we've had the misfortune of speaking to has given us the run-around since we got here! We've had to deal with bodies strung up in the hallways, transforming surroundings, monsters, memories best left forgotten, lies and even fricken theft!"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Shut up lady, I'm not finished. We've had to put up with pain, zombies and numerous dissections all to get to this point! I'm tired, I'm hurt, my brother is tired and hurt, all our stuff is gone, I've witnessed the horrific death of a child all so you could jump start the apocalypse? I don't even know why we're here, or why it was so important to have our blood to summon you! I think we deserve some explanations." Dean knew they were running out of time, but he wanted answers.

She gave him a small piteous laugh and shook her head. "So young," she said, raising her hand to his cheek. The sensation of her touch was undesirable, everything and nothing all at once. "For happiness, there must be unhappiness, dark and light, love and hate, but most importantly there is chaos and order. The world needs balance. I am older than time, older than order, older than a world in balance. I took time, dividing it into day and night. I turned chaos into order. I took sadness and gave people joy. I took endless time away from the people. Do you not see what I am? What I have done for you? Mankind suffers endlessly and I am about to create a world where they can be happy just by being there.

"Your suffering is great Dean Winchester. Your blood was the catalyst of Paradise! I can make you happy."

"I've heard that before," scoffed Dean. "But all I ended up with was a weird rash."

Ignoring his quip, she turned toward Sam who was walking toward her, tendrils of her smoke dress twinning around his ankles. "The turmoil and chaos in your heart is breathtaking. My strength is proportionate to the suffering of men like you."

"Good to know we're doing our part, eh Sam?" said Dean sarcastically.

"Happy to help," replied Sam.

Dean shook his head. "So let me get this straight. We're here because our lives are shit?"

She just smiled at him.

Dean growled low in his throat, fist tightening around the shard in his hand. "Sorry lady, but it's our job to stop monsters like you. Our suffering is our own." As he spoke, he drove the shard into her chest and twisted the blade.

Her expression didn't change at first; she actually leaned closer to him and spoke in his ear. "Suffering is limitless. It will explode someday, Dean Winchester. And when it does, you will be groveling at my feet for a place in Paradise."

Dean pulled the shard out and plunged it in again. "Doubt it, bitch."

While she was preoccupied, Sam sprinted across the rooftop to the steel door of the stairwell. He lifted the knife to his hand and slashed his palm. Blood pooled in his hand and he looked up at the etching on the door.

"I hope this works," he muttered. "Hey!" he called, gaining the woman's attention before he pressed his bloody hand to the etching. Light, pure and white erupted from the etching and the woman's eyes grew wide. For a moment, there was a glimpse of humanity there, but it disappeared quickly. Overhead, the Halo of the Sun flickered, struggling to remain visible in the black sky. The woman tried to toss Sam aside, but her powers betrayed her, fire crawling under her skin. Dean kept stabbing her, keeping her down while Sam's seal did its work. She dropped to her knees before Dean. Her eyes closed and black tears dripped down her cheeks. Her skin was dissolving before their eyes, her limbs turning to dust. As the brothers watched, her body disappeared and the Halo of the Sun gave one last flicker before it winked out.

Far off sirens began to howl and slowly, the sky lightened.

Sam turned to Dean and smiled, his face grim in the new, natural light. "Hard to believe a few stab wounds weakened her so much."

Dean nodded. "We did unload a mountain of ammo into her too, though." Sighing, he turned to the door of the stairwell and looked at the symbols Sam had carved with the knife. "I've never seen that seal before."

"That's because it's probably never been used before. I am actually amazed it worked."

Shrugging, Dean sighed and glanced back at his brother. "Honestly, I'm done questioning shit here, Sam. She's gone for now, and if she shows up again, we'll just kick her ass again."

Sam nodded, joining Dean at the edge of the rooftop to watch the town transform. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the little girl and the cot holding her was gone. He said as silent prayer for her and went to help his brother get the stairwell door open.

* * *

><p>Castiel could feel the absence of the Halo of the Sun the moment the monster calling herself God was killed. This was not the first time she had been thwarted, nor would it be the last. It would take time for The Order to regroup, but they always fell into the same patterns. As long as people held darkness in their hearts, there would be a chance that someone else would be led to Silent Hill, just as so many before have. He and his fellow angels would reconstruct the seals around the town like they always did, protecting humanity from the evils within the boundaries. Maybe this time they would include a few curses to dissuade the summoning.<p>

Looking up into the sky, he could see the remnants of power used by both Valtiel and his new God. He could also locate Sam and Dean and it was oddly reassuring to feel their presence once again. He would wait for them on the outskirts of town to give them his thanks.


	22. Epilogue

Dean was way past autopilot by the time they were heading down the highway toward the car. Every single inch of his body hurt and that included the inside. Sam didn't really look a whole lot better. He was able to focus on his pain since they had fallen silent after Sam had explained the seal to him. If Dean remembered what he had said correctly, it was amazing that the thing had worked at all.

"I remembered what those strange symbols were," he began. "The rovàsiràs are from an old Hungarian alphabet, but some of the symbols are similar to some Native American languages as well. I figured the symbols must mean a lot to them since they use them in the Halo. I saw they were in the warding seal as well, and that one tablet we used in the door spelled out God. I basically just recreated the warding seal, but with a few changes in the rovàsiràs so that it wouldn't just hold her, it would more or less eliminate her."

"But how did you know your blood wouldn't just give her more power?" Dean had asked.

"Remember when she was talking to you as I carved the seal? She had specifically said _your_ blood was the catalyst. And it only took your blood to bring her to life, so I figured maybe mine would stop her. It was a long shot, I know…but it worked."

Dean nodded and frowned at his feet. It was a long shot, but crazier things had happened. He was just glad it had worked and they had been able to get out of there.

As he placed one foot in front of the other, he still couldn't seem to believe they had survived that. It almost felt like she let herself be killed. He may have just been imagining things and she wasn't nearly as powerful as they were led to believe. He shook his head, dragging his fingers through his greasy hair.

"You said the little girl was killed, right?" Sam asked, startling Dean from his thoughts.

Dean nodded solemnly. He had seen her violent death with his own eyes.

"Then how come her body wasn't there? I looked and she was gone."

"I have no friggen clue, dude. I wouldn't think too hard on it, either. Your head'll explode." Dean let out a slow breath, frowning down at his feet. There wasn't any evidence left of what the town had looked like a couple of hours ago; no monsters, no blood, no corpses. None of it made sense, but Dean didn't care. They were getting out alive and more-or-less in one piece.

Beside him, Dean could feel a difference in Sam's attitude. He looked up and saw three of the best things he had ever seen in his life; Castiel, Jessica and the Impala. He almost cried at the site of his car. While he stared at his baby, the little girl ran straight to Sam, wrapping her arms around his hips and squeezing him in a hug.

"This your doing, Cas? Cause I saw her die and it wasn't pretty," said Dean. Like anyone else could have done this.

"I have also recovered the majority of your weapons."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Dean allowed himself to relax and smile. "Thanks, dude. We really could have used your help back there, though."

Castiel didn't answer, just stood next to Dean by the Impala and watched the child tug on Sam. He bent down so that she could look him in the eye and Dean knew what she was asking him just by the way his shoulders stiffened. She was asking about her parents. His brother's voice didn't carry over to them, but Dean didn't need to hear him to know his tone was soft and sympathetic. The child accepted what Sam was telling her and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Pulling his car keys from his back pocket, Dean went to the trunk of the Impala, opened it and tossed in his duffel, newly acquired guns and knife. "C'mon, Sam! It's a long drive to the closest shower."

Sam glanced in his direction and nodded. He grabbed the girl's hand and walked her toward the car. "She's got grandparents in Harrisburg that we can leave her with," he said to Dean as he helped the girl into the car.

"All right, Harrisburg it is! Windows down till we reach a motel though." Dean cranked over the ignition. "Oh, and Cas?" He leaned out the window to look up at the trench coat wearing angel.

"Yes?"

"Try and get this place sealed up ASAP, okay?"

Without a reply, Castiel vanished before their eyes.

Dean checked the rearview mirror and saw the little girl smile at him. He smiled back and pressed his foot to the floor. With a squeal, the Impala took off, leaving Silent Hill far behind.

* * *

><p>A violently convulsing head poked out of an air vent in the underground levels of the church. Bandaged hands followed. The once again powerless being crawled along the wall, attached to it like an insect. He was lonely again, but his duty was still the same. Protect God. This was more important than anything and he would wait silently until he was needed to perform this task again. He could smell the fear and loathing of potential victims of this quiet little town. His excitement to meet the next vessel or life-giver of his God was palpable. He could wait though. Longer than anyone knew.<p> 


End file.
